


Come Hell or High Water

by The_Walking_Pie



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, Author Chose not to add more tags to avoid giving away the plot, Don't take all the medical advice I'm not a medical professional, Frequent punning on the word "dam", Gen, Grief/Mourning, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lots of Water, Major Illness, Minor Injuries, Questionable Water Physics, Snufkin has a bad time, This is more like G + but that doesn't exist so I'm being safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21868057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Walking_Pie/pseuds/The_Walking_Pie
Summary: Snufkin is on his way back to Moomin, but he's running late. Spring came early this year, and he wasn't ready for it. To make up for lost time, he decides to take a risk and travel in the middle of a terrible rainstorm.When Mother Nature rears her ugly head, will Snufkin be able to make it back to his best friend?And will Moominvalley still be waiting for him?
Comments: 196
Kudos: 317





	1. About a Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I should probably let you know that the cannon in this story will be taken from various sources. For example, the 90s anime calls Mymble Jr. "Mumble". I'm rolling with that but I'm considering the two of them separate characters.  
> ...but that's not what you're here for, is it?  
> I hope you enjoy!

Moomin woke up to the sound of the rain pattering on his window. Yawning, he stretched his limbs. He blinked a few times, trying to orient himself. Rain…Moomin peered outside. There was nothing but green grass all around. 

It was springtime.

“Yippie!” Moomin shouted, leaping out of bed. Springtime meant Snufkin! He raced downstairs. This year, Snufkin had specifically promised to be back right on the first day of spring. Moomin rummaged around the house, ripping off the furniture covers. Where was that umbrella?

Moominpappa and Moominmamma slowly trudged down the stairs. “Mamma, Pappa!” Moomin shouted. “Do you remember where we put the umbrella last Autumn? I want to go wait for Snufkin!” 

“Well, you see Moomin…” Moominpappa sheepishly held out his clock. “I don’t think Snufkin will be coming for awhile yet.” 

“What?” Moomin paused his searching to glance at the clock. The hand pointed to winter. _Winter_? “But there’s no snow on the ground!” Moomin protested, as if that could change the clock’s results.

“It looks like spring came early this year.” Moominmamma said, “earlier than Snufkin probably would’ve expected.”

“Oh.” Moomin felt his tail droop. 

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon enough.” Moominmamma reassured her son. “Now, do you want something to eat? I was thinking about making some stew.”

“Sure Mamma!” Moomin answered cheerfully. He was still sad that he wouldn’t be seeing Snufkin for awhile yet, but Moominmamma’s cooking always cheered him up.

Moominpappa and Moomin cleaned the kitchen and the living room while Moominmamma tended to her Hibernation-ending stew, a recipe passed down from her grandmother’s cookbook. Just before everyone sat down to eat, there was a knock on the door. 

“That must be Mumble with Little My.” Moominpappa got up from the table.

“Make sure to invite Mumble in too.” Moominmamma reminded Moominpappa. “I have plenty of stew.”

“Of course dear!” Moominpappa opened the door. “Hello Mumb-Inspector?”

The Inspector was standing on the porch, holding a black umbrella at his side. “Ah, I see that you’re all awake!”

“Why, hello Inspector!” Moominpappa greeted him. “What brings you here?”

“Would you like some stew?” Moominmamma asked.

“As much as I’d like some, I need to warn the rest of the valley first.” The Inspector sighed. 

“Warn the valley?” Moomin asked. “Warn them about what?”

“The water levels are quite high right now,” the inspector said, “as I’m sure you’ve all noticed by now. I’m just going door-to-door right now to make sure everyone’s done hibernating, just in case it starts to flood.”

“My goodness!” Moominmamma exclaimed. 

“Will it be bad?” Moomin asked fearfully. 

“According to Mr. Hemulen’s weather forecast, the heaviest rains are going down south, so we should escape the worst of it.” The Inspector explained. “However, Mr. Hemulen is still expecting some flooding around here, so I figured I should warn everyone. After all, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Moominpappa said. 

“Well, I need to go visit Mumble’s house next.” The inspector opened his umbrella. “You all stay safe now.”

“You too Inspector!” Moominpappa waved as the inspector went back out into the rain.

“Snufkin’s down south.” Moomin whispered. 

“I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Moominmamma poured some stew for Moomin. 

“Your mother’s right.” Moominpappa agreed. “Snufkin is an experienced traveler. He’ll be fine.”

Moomin remembered the last time he saw Snufkin. The two of them had been on the bridge. The first flakes of snow were just starting to fall.

“Winter’s early this year.” Moomin traced his foot back and forth.

“I know.” Snufkin had sounded almost apologetic.

“It’s not your fault!” Moomin consoled him. “You need to leave before the snow traps you here, you said so yourself!”

“I did.” Snufkin fidgeted with the straps on his pack. “I should get going then.”

“Goodbye Snufkin!” Moomin waved. “I’ll see you next spring!”

“I’ll be there on the first day! I promise!” Snufkin waved back. “No matter what!”

“I’ll be waiting!” Moomin replayed Snufkin’s last words in his head. _No matter what_ ...that seemed rather ominous to him. _No matter what_ , Snufkin had said.

Would the flood force him to break his promise?

Moomin snapped back to the present.

“I know I shouldn’t be worried,” he sighed, “but I just have this awful feeling that he’s going to be in trouble. I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s alright to be worried.” Moominmamma rubbed Moomin’s back. “I worry every time Snufkin leaves for the winter. But I know he’ll come back. He always does.”

“If I’m honest, I’m a little worried too.” Moominpappa admitted. “However, I know Snufkin will be careful, and that his experience will serve him well. He’ll be back before too long, I’m sure.”

“You guys are right.” Moomin stirred his stew, trying to be optimistic. “Snufkin will be back soon. He always comes back.”

Even though he was doing his best, Moomin still couldn’t shake off a sense of foreboding. What if something had happened to Snufkin? 

* * *

The inn was crowded, unusually so for this time of year. Snufkin normally wouldn’t take shelter in such places, but an elderly hemulen had seen him hiking and had offered to buy him coffee and some bread in exchange for some conversation. Snufkin had obliged; he needed a rest anyway. But the hemulen was being a bit more pushy than the mumrik was comfortable with. He kept on pressing for answers about his parents and his upbringing. Snufkin managed to dodge those questions so far, but was happy to tell him about his friends back in Moominvalley. The hemulen seemed surprised that the Moomins let Snufkin wander around on his own all winter. Snufkin was sure that the hemulen was judging them, viewing Snufkin as a child needing coddling, instead of an experienced traveler with many winters under his belt. It was a common misconception that most people that he met had, especially elderly hemulens. 

Now the elderly hemulen was pestering Snufkin about his travel plans.

“Are you sure leaving now is the best idea?” the elderly hemulen asked, anxiously stirring his coffee.

“I’ll be fine, Topias.” Snufkin gestured at the map in front of him. “If I leave now, I’ll be at Deer Valley before the flooding gets too bad.” Snufkin traced the path between the inn and the next town over. “Then I’ll go over this path here, and I should be in Moominvalley by the end of next week.”

“I admire your enthusiasm, but I think it might be best to wait until the weather clears.” Topias gestured to a brown square on Snufkin’s map. “Do you know what that is?”

“The Overpass Dam.” Snufkin told him, doing his best not to sound too annoyed. “I travel this road a lot, I know about it.”

“Right.” Topias nodded. “Are you aware of how much water the dam holds?” 

“Isn’t the Overpass Dam the largest dam in this part of the woods?” Snufkin asked. 

“Why, you’re correct!” Topias sounded surprised. “It holds the water for the entirety of Dam Valley…”

Snufkin snickered. 

“Really?” The hemulen sighed. 

“My apologies.” Snufkin managed to compose himself. While he hated swearing, he did enjoy words that sounded like cursing. Conversations about Dam Valley and the like always felt like he was getting away with something that he shouldn’t, and he liked that feeling. 

“I feel like you’re not taking me seriously.” Topias peered at Snufkin through his spectacles. 

“Oh, I am!” Snufkin promised. It wasn’t his fault that Dam Valley had such a funny name.

“Anyway.” The hemulen cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’re aware that if that dam goes, that underpass is going to be instantly flooded, and any travellers caught in the waves aren’t going to fair well.”

“Hm…” Snufkin frowned. “From what I’ve heard, that dam hasn’t broke in years.”

“That may be,” Topias agreed, “but this winter was an unusually high snowfall, it’s been super warm this last week which made the snow melt fast, and now with the rains...I don’t know. That dam’s withstood worse, but there’s still more for it to deal with than normal. And considering its age...I just have a feeling in my bones. You know what I mean? It might be best to wait.”

Snufkin leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. He knew the value of gut instincts;they had saved him many times over during his travels. Maybe he should stay. 

But he had made a promise to Moomin, and he intended to keep it. 

“This town is prone to flooding, right?” Snufkin asked.

“Yes.” The hemulen confirmed. “They’re well prepared for it though, from what I’ve managed to gather. They have enough boats for the entire town.”

“And at the rate the rain is going, the pass between here and Deer Valley will be inaccessible by tomorrow, right?”

“Most likely, yes.” Topias nodded. “It should clear within a week though.”

Snufkin pursed his lips. He didn’t have a week. Not if he wanted to make it back in time. “Deer Valley is at a higher elevation.” Snufkin tapped his map. “If I made it there tonight, it would be a safe place to wait out any flooding. And the gorge never floods. Spring is coming soon. Waiting here would take too long. And besides, Moominvalley won’t be as badly flooded as we’re about to be here.”

“I know you made a promise to your friend,” Topias took out a white handkerchief and started to clean his glasses, “but your plan has an awful lot of ‘ifs’ in it. If you make it tonight...” the hemulen increased the speed of his cleaning, “...if the pass doesn’t flood too bad, if there isn’t more flooding waiting for you in Moominvalley, if the dam doesn’t break…”

“Topias, calm down!” Snufkin held up his paw. “You have valid concerns, and I’ve thought about them, I promise!”

“Are you sure?” Topias put his glasses back on. “Are you really, really, _really_ sure?”

“I’m sure.” Snufkin reassured him, trying to hold back a sigh. “If I’m wrong and the pass becomes too flooded to travel safely, I can just climb a tree and wait it out. I have plenty of food.” Snufkin tapped his pack.

“Well...” Topias crossed his arms, “have you considered the possibility of hypothermia if you have to stay in that tree for a long time?”

“Um...yes.” Snufkin actually hadn’t thought about hypothermia, but he was relatively certain that he could make it to Deer Valley before the flooding got too bad. He was certain that the hemulen was just overthinking things. 

“And if that dam goes…”

“The dam isn’t going to go.” Snufkin snapped. He took a few deep breaths. In, out. In, out. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I’ve made my decision. I’m going to go now, before the rain gets to bad, and take my chances.”

“Snufkin,” the hemulen pleaded, “I know sometimes as travelers, we take risks. But I feel like this is an unnecessary one. I’m sure your friends will understand if you’re a week late.”

Snufkin could still see Moomin’s face when they said goodbye. Moomin had been smiling and had sent him off with a wave, but Snufkin had seen the tears pooling in his eyes. Even though Moomin had always been supportive of Snufkin’s nomadic ways, the mumrik knew how much Moomin missed him, and how much it hurt Moomin when he left. The year Snufkin had been delayed by a cold, Teety-Woo had told him that Moomin had stayed up all winter waiting for him. According to Snorkmaiden, Moomin had even gone out to look for him, even though he was suffering through a cold of his own, just because Snufkin was late. 

Snufkin had no doubt that Moomin would understand. But he couldn’t get Moomin’s face out of his mind. Moomin would be heartbroken if he didn’t return on time. Moomin had to put up with a lot, being best friends with a vagabond like him. The least he could do was keep the promise he had made to be back right on the first day of spring, and not a day later. 

“You’ve been very nice to me, nicer than most strangers that I meet.” Snufkin finished his coffee. “However, I’ve made my decision. I should really get going.”

“Alright then.” Topias sighed heavily. “At least promise me that if the water gets too high you’ll turn back.”

“I will.” Snufkin slung his pack over his shoulders.

“Snufkin,” Topias stuck out his paw, “may the Bobble watch over you.”

Snufkin couldn’t quite figure it out, but something about the elderly hemulen’s tone shot shivers down his spine. Cautiously, he accepted Topias’s goodbye. “May the Bobble watch over you too.” 

The hemulen’s grip lasted too long for Snufkin’s liking. He pulled his paw away. “I’ll be fine.” Snufkin gave Topias a friendly wave before setting off into the night. 

* * *

The first part of the trip went pretty smoothly. The water only covered the bottom of Snufkin’s feet. _Topias was worrying too much_ , Snufkin thought to himself. He had left plenty of time to get to Deer Valley before things got too bad.

Soon, the water was past his ankles. A little bit higher than Snufkin was used to traveling through, but still navigable. The sky darkened, but Snufkin just pulled out his lantern. It was no big deal. 

When the water level crept to his knees, Snufkin started to have second thoughts. _Maybe I should go back_ , he thought, sloshing through the muck. He could barely see, even with the help of the lantern. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure he was on the path anymore. Snufkin peered into the din, trying to figure out where exactly he was.

_Thump!_

“Ow!” Snufkin rubbed his thigh. A small pile of branches had been swept into him. Snufkin pushed them away. _Okay, so this wasn’t one of my better decisions_ , he thought to himself. He raised the lantern again. There was a trail marker up ahead. He drug his feet through the water. It was getting harder and harder to move too. He’d soon have to find shelter, even if he decided to turn back.

_Boom!_

For a minute, Snufkin thought the noise was thunder. Then he felt the vibrations in his feet.

_It couldn’t be…_

A loud rushing sound filled his ears, almost like a waterfall. 

There were no waterfalls on his map.

Snufkin raced for the nearest tree, gripped the lantern with his teeth, and began to climb.


	2. About a Broken Dam

Moomin started out the window. The rain had certainly picked up. Snufkin’s usual camping site had now flooded. Moomin fervently hoped that the water would dry out before his best friend’s return. 

“Moomin,” Moominmamma gently put her paw on his shoulder, “you should really be in bed.”

“Alright Mamma.” Moomin sighed, jumping down from the window. He trudged upstairs to his room. As he pulled up his covers, he thought of Snufkin. Moomin imagined that Snufkin had set his tent up and was fast asleep under his blankets. Or maybe he was in one of those inns, sharing tales with the locals and playing music. Or maybe he was nestled up in a cave somewhere, cooking his food by a nice warm fire. Or maybe…

Moomin fell asleep to the rain pattering on his roof.

* * *

Snufkin could feel the spray of water hit his back. He stared in awe at the destruction beneath him. He could see the outline of branches and even whole trees below him. He could feel the tree swaying back and forth underneath his clenched paws. The wind created from the sheer force of the water threatened to tear his hat off. 

This was not looking good.

_Think positive_ , he admonished himself. He was safe for the moment. His decision to climb the tree had saved him from being dashed to pieces. The water didn’t seem like it would quite make it up this high. Sure, he was wet and cold, but it could be worse. He decided to secure his harmonica in his pack instead of his pocket. If he fell in the water, it would be safer there. 

Suddenly, the tree pitched forward a little. Snufkin wrapped his legs around the tree trunk and transferred the lantern from his teeth to his left paw. Keeping a tight grip on the tree with his right paw, he peered closely at the area under him. There were several large logs pressing against the base of the tree. Another large tree was heading his way, and Snufkin wasn’t sure that his perch would hold. He braced for the impact.

_Crack!_

With a groan, the tree lurched forward. Snufkin took a deep breath. He felt his heart jump into his throat as the tree landed with a loud splash. He lost his grip and tumbled into the icy water.

With the lantern light extinguished, Snufkin lost all sense of direction. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to make his way back to the surface. He thrust his arms out into the darkness, searching for a tree or a branch or anything that he could use to orient himself. He felt something scrape at his paw. Investigating further, he found a small pocket of air. He grasped the small branches and pulled himself up. Snufkin gasped for air, wincing as the branches scraped his face. 

_Okay. Okay. Okay_. 

Snufkin took a few breaths in through his nose in an effort to calm himself down. Sure, he couldn’t see and he was moving super fast and he was neck deep in floodwater but he could breathe and that was what was important right now. The cracking of branches and the roar of water filled his senses as he hurtled blindly through the darkness. 

Snufkin shivered. For once in his life, he had no idea what to do. He was barely managing to stay afloat, to keep the situation at least semi-under control. Things literally couldn’t get worse—

A thick branch pressed into his back, pushing him under water. The branches cut into his face a second time. The water ran up his nose as he was flipped upside down. His hat was knocked off of his head. Snufkin kicked and kicked trying to find his way back to the surface, only to realize that he couldn’t move. He was pinned. His pack straps cut into his sholders as the water tried to carry him onward. He couldn’t breath. _No, no, no!_

_See you next spring! I’ll be waiting!_ Moomin’s voice filled his ears.

It couldn’t end here! Snufkin wouldn’t let it end here! He promised Moomin he’d be back for spring, and he was going to keep that promise! 

Snufkin stopped struggling. He had to calm down, to try a different approach. Panicking would help nobody. He felt around, trying to figure out exactly how he had been pinned. His lungs were on fire. His paws probed his pack. It was thoroughly entangled in the branches. If he could pull the pack out, maybe he could wiggle out but he was pretty badly tangled and the urge to inhale was overwhelming. 

Snufkin had no choice, there was no time. He ripped one of his arms out of the pack, followed by the other. He kicked off of the branch, hoping that he could gain enough momentum to get under it. He couldn’t hold his breath anymore, he was starting to breathe in the flood water, he was out of time where was the surface he needed to find the surface!

Snufkin emerged from the water, gasping and coughing. He flailed around trying to find something _anything_ for him to grab. His hand smacked a piece of wood. Snufkin seized it. It was just large enough for him to pull his upper half out of the water. He laid there for a minute, coughing and gasping, exhausted and shivering, not even able to push his hair out of his eyes.

Then the reality of the last few minutes hit him.

The tears stung as they hit the cuts on his face. Everything he owned was in that pack. He’d had his hat ever since he was a child. His tent was in that pack, with his fishing rod and his map and his harmonica and all his food. He had to ditch it, he would’ve drowned if he hadn’t, but it still hurt. 

“Ahhhh!” Snufkin yelled into the darkness. He wasn’t sure if it was a yell of anger, sadness, or fear. It probably wasn’t the most sensible thing to do given the situation, but Snufkin had reached his limit. All he wanted was to wake up back at the inn, or better yet, back home in Moominvalley. By the bobble, he wished he was in Moominvalley. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself back down. He could see everyone at Moomin house, running around and playing while he sat under the tree on the hill playing his harmonica. And then, Moominmamma would call them inside and serve them fresh cookies…

Snufkin felt himself slipping back into the water. He forced his eyes open and pulled himself back up. He had to make it back! He promised Moomin! He’d survived the end of the world before, he could survive a flood! 

But he was so cold, and the water was so warm, and he was so tired...

Snufkin saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he thought that he had been imagining it. He peered into the din. 

“Call me crazy Emil,” a voice drifted through the night, “but I could’ve sworn that I heard someone scream.”

If it was a hallucination, he had nothing to lose. “Help!” Snufkin begged. 

“Well, I definitely heard somebody!” another voice yelled.

“Help!” A wave pushed Snufkin and his piece of wood under. He kicked his way back to the surface. “Over here!” he screamed.

The lantern swung in his direction. “Emil, look! It’s a kid!”

Normally, Snufkin would protest at being called a child, but now was not the time. “Over here!”

“I’m coming, kiddo!” the voice shouted. “Here Emil, hold this.”

Snufkin could just barely make out two shadowy figures on a rowboat. He couldn’t believe it. He was saved! 

“Lookout kid!” the voice yelled. Snufkin heard a splash. 

“To your left!” A different voice yelled.

Snufkin turned his head just in time to get a bush to the face.


	3. About Bugs and Lily pads

“Hey, I think he’s waking up!”

Snufkin blinked a few times. The sun hurt his eyes. Was there a hole in his tent? And where was his hat? He lifted his hand to shield himself, and felt his thumb brush against a bandage.

_Bandage?_

He tried to raise himself up, but he felt the world shift beneath him. He was covered in two raincoats and a tarp. He was sweating profusely under the raincoats. The tarp was wrapped so tightly around his legs that he felt like a fish. 

“Take it easy, young man.” Snufkin felt a set of hands gently push him back down. It was still too bright to tell whose hands they were. 

“Okay.” Snufkin answered weakly. He licked his chapped lips. His mouth felt sandpaper dry. 

“Here, I’ll get you some water. We have plenty of it around us, after all. That’s the advantage of a flood.”

 _A Flood_...everything came rushing back to Snufkin. He sat right back up. “Where am I?”

“I said take it _easy_ young man!” the hands pushed him down again, but slightly more roughly. “You’re on a boat. We plucked you from the water just in time I’d say. We wrapped you up as best we could to prevent hypothermia and your smock is drying now. Here, drink some water.”

Snufkin automatically reached for the water, and then stopped. “No." He pulled his hand away. “It's probably contaminated. It has to be purified first.”

“We may just be two city doctors stuck in the wilderness, but we know a thing or two about water.” the voice scoffed. “We’re from Dam Valley after all. I purified it with some iodine.” 

_Doctors? Iodine?_ Snufkin rubbed his eyes and blinked, trying to get a better view. He was lying in the front of a small rowboat, his head propped up with a bunch of blankets. That explained the swaying he felt when he woke up. A male Fillyjonk and a male Mymble in muddy white lab coats were sitting in the rowboat. The Mymble was steering the boat, while the Fillyjonk was holding a cup of water. 

“Drink.” the Fillyjonk ordered. “I promise that it’s not poisoned.”

Snufkin gingerly took the cup, hands shaking. “Thank you.” he gulped it down, taking care not to spill the water on himself. 

“So what’s your name kid?” The Mymble asked. 

“A-achoo!” Snufkin sneezed. “Snufkin.” he wiped his nose on his sleeve. 

“Nice name.” The Mymble nodded approvingly. “My name’s Brother Mymble, and this is Emil. We’re the Dam Valley’s best doctor team...”

Despite the circumstances, Snufkin had to let out a chuckle. 

“Really?” Emil sighed. “How can you be so juvenile?” 

“You shouldn’t be so uptight Emil.” Brother Mymble chastised him. “Haven’t you heard that laughter is the best medicine?”

“Anyway,” Emil huffed before picking up where Brother Mymble left off, “we were in the da—er, the town lake the night the storm hit, trying to deliver medicine to a sick child. We managed to throw the medicine to the child’s mother, but the dam unfortunately broke before we could properly land the boat.”

“Which turned out to be a stroke of luck, in a strange sort of way.” Brother Mymble smiled. “We ended up being in the right place at the right time.”

“Thank you both for saving me.” Snufkin smiled back. “To be honest, I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” Snufkin suddenly started coughing. He shivered as the coughs racked his whole body. His lungs burned. 

“Hm…” Emil frowned. 

Snufkin finally managed to bring his coughing under control. His head was pounding. He massaged it, hoping to alleviate at least some of the pain.

“I’m going to listen to your lungs.” Emil got out his stethoscope. “Could you lift your smock for me?”

Snufkin obeyed. Emil helped him sit up. Snufkin winced as the cold metal touched his chest.

“Just take normal breaths for me.” Emil coached soothingly. “Okay. Hm. Now, could you try taking a deep breath for me?”

Snufkin tried, but it felt like he was hitting a wall. 

“Can you breath any deeper?” Emil asked.

Snufkin tried to suck in more air, but his lungs rebelled. He launched into another coughing fit, only this time he couldn’t stop. 

“Okay.” Emil roughly pulled Snufkin to the side of the boat. “Better out than in.” He thumped Snufkin on the back.

Snufkin couldn’t get in enough air to protest. He could feel his cheeks turn red with effort. Finally, after making a loud whooping noise, he managed to stop. Spots danced around his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Brother Mymble asked. 

Snufkin nodded. He was still too worn out from the coughing to answer.

“That cough almost sounded like…” Emil mused. “Brother Mymble, you don’t think it’s Pertussis, do you?” 

“Whooping cough?!?” Snufkin panicked. He’d heard about the illness while traveling. He knew it was very serious. 

“Emil, you’re scaring him!” Brother Mymble exclaimed.“It’s probably just water in his lungs. Snufkin, sometimes the body just makes that whooping sound because the lungs aren’t getting enough air while coughing. Unless...you haven’t had a cold recently, have you?”

“No.” Snufkin rasped.

“Good. Then Brother Mymble's most likely right and it's just water in your lungs from almost drowning.” Emil said confidently. “Completely normal, considering the circumstances.” 

“Okay.” Snufkin nodded. His head was still swimming and his lungs still ached. “Can you do anything for it?”

“You should lie back down.” Emil suggested, dodging the question. “Here, let me help you.”

“No.” Snufkin protested. “I want to sit up.”

“No.” Emil snapped. “You need to rest.”

“How about you prop Snufkin up with a stack of boxes?” Brother Mymble suggested. “That way, he can sit up without too much effort?”

“Okay.” Emil agreed reluctantly. He shifted the boxes behind Snufkin so that he could sit up.

“Thanks.” Snufkin adjusted the tarp around his legs so that he wouldn’t be as tightly bound. He coughed again, but it was lighter this time. 

“Can you help my cough?” Snufkin asked again. 

“Well…” Emil turned to Brother Mymble. “A word in private, my friend?”

Brother Mymble nodded.

Snufkin wanted to protest that A; he was old enough to hear whatever they were talking about and that B; they were in a tiny rowboat where there was nowhere to go for privacy. But the two doctors simply took off their coats and threw them over themselves to make a mini tent. Snufkin strained to hear what they were saying, but he never heard a sound. Were they passing a notepad under there? Did they have a secret sign language? 

After what felt like forever, the two doctors put their coats back on. Emil took the rudder while Brother Mymble carefully made his way over to Snufkin. 

“How much do you remember about the flood kiddo?” Brother Mymble asked. 

“Please don’t call me kiddo.” Snufkin requested. He thought back to that terrible night. “Well...I was heading towards Deer Valley. I wanted to stop there, wait out the flood, and then I wanted to set off for Moominvalley and get there by the first day of spring. But now…” Snufkin stopped as the realization hit him. “Which direction are we going?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” Brother Mymble admitted, “but I think we just passed Orchard Grove. That’s a town in the Southeastern Basin, right Emil?”

“The middle of the Southeastern Basin, yes.” Emil sighed. “We’re farther from home than I thought.”

“And I suppose we can’t paddle against the current either.” Snufkin said dejectedly, eyeing the rushing rapids. 

“We don’t even have paddles anymore, they were lost in the storm.” Emil lifted his steering stick out of the water. “We made this with a tree branch and that sign you were floating on.” 

_Moomin_ ...Snufkin had no hope of keeping his promise now. Orchard Grove was _ages_ from Moominvalley. He’d taken a huge risk, and now he was paying for it. He buried his face in his paws.

“Do you have family in Moominvalley?” Brother Mymble interrupted Snufkin’s thoughts.

“No,” Snufkin said quietly, “but I have friends. Lots and lots of friends, and I promised I’d be back—” he launched into another fit of coughing, with some more whooping.

“Hang in there Snufkin. I’m so sorry.” Brother Mymble gently patted him on the shoulder.

Finally, Snufkin managed to stop himself. He rubbed his chest. “Do you have medicine?” he asked. He normally hated medicine, but he was willing to do anything to change the subject, to distract himself from thoughts of Moomin’s mournful face. 

“Y’see, um, well, the night of the storm, there was a sick child.” Brother Mymble fiddled with his thumbs. “Which I told you about already, but anyway. His father braved the storm to come and get us. Apparently, the kiddo had eaten something he shouldn’t have. We made the father stay in the office, because we didn’t want him to face the storm twice. Besides, the less people in the boat the better. We got in his rowboat, and we packed light. The kid only needed an emetic after all. Plus, his mother is a nurse that works with us and she had her own medical kit. Best to not waste time restocking, lest the weather get worse. We gave the emetic to his mother, and...well, you know the rest.” 

“You don’t have medicine for me.” Snufkin realized.

“I’m sorry.” Brother Mymble pursed his lips. “I gave my medical bag to the family because it had all the medicine he needed. Fortunately, Emil decided to grab his, but his last patient only needed stitches so it doesn’t have much in it. He has some stuff to keep the fever down, and some ointment for those scratches on your face, but we can’t do anything for your cough. There are some herbal remedies we could make, but everything we need for that is underwater.”

“Oh.” Snufkin felt his mouth go dry and his paws moisten with sweat. He was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the fever. “Am I…?” Snufkin swallowed nervously. He had to ask, but he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to form the words. 

“You’re not going to die.” Brother Mymble guessed what Snufkin was thinking. “There are some trees that grow fruit up high once we get further south. I think there’s a nice tree that grows a huge purple fruit with white polka-dots. It’s supposed to be really sweet! Oh, and the weather will get nicer too as we go further south, which will help your cough. It’ll be fine, I promise!” He smiled encouragingly.

Snufkin wanted to believe Brother Mymble, he really did. But there was something in Brother Mymble’s eyes that told Snufkin that he didn’t really believe what he was saying. And Snufkin also happened to know that the trees Brother Mymble was talking about were in the Southwestern Basin, not the Southeastern Basin. 

“Have either of you done much traveling?” Snufkin asked.

“No, not really.” Emil answered. “Too much work to do in Dam Valley, you know.”

“I took my siblings camping once.” Brother Mymble stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It did not turn out well.”

“That’s okay.” Snufkin assured them. “My earliest memories are me traveling through the forest. If anyone knows how to survive out here, it’s probably me.”

“You?” Emil scoffed. “But you’re so young!”

“I believe you!” Brother Mymble grinned from ear to ear. “So, um...I’m actually hungry. And we should probably get some food into you too. What would you suggest we eat?” 

Normally, Snufkin would suggest fishing, but they couldn’t start a cooking fire on a rowboat. He had heard about sushi, but he had no idea how to even start making it. Besides, he had lost his fishing rod in the flood. Snufkin pushed himself up and glanced around. He could see some lily pads and some algae floating around. In the distance, he could hear woodpeckers. 

“I have a plan,” he said, “but you guys are not going to like it. Not one bit.”

“Why not?” Brother Mymble asked.

“We’re going to have to eat some non-traditional things.” Snufkin said, gesturing to some algae floating past. “We can eat some water plants. And there are woodpeckers, which most certainly means that there are bugs in the trees.” 

“Water plants?” Brother Mymble winced. “Like lily pads and algae? That’s a thing?”

“Bugs?” Emil echoed faintly. “You can eat bugs? And not die?”

“It won’t be pleasant, but we’ll have food.” Snufkin insisted firmly. 

The two doctors exchanged glances. Snufkin noticed that they both looked apprehensive. 

“Alright.” Brother Mymble nodded grimly. “If that’s what you think, we’ll go with it.”

“Whatever gets us home.” Emil agreed. “I’ll see if I can steer us towards a nice clump of seaweed. You should get some rest. To be honest, I’d feel a lot better if you were lying down instead of sitting up.”

“But—” 

“Snufkin,” Brother Mymble said, “we’ve got a long road ahead of us, and we have no idea what’s coming next. You’re not in the best condition right now, so you’ll need all your energy if you want to help us out.” 

Snufkin thought it over. “Will you wake me up before you try and eat anything?” Snufkin asked.

“I don’t think it ever occurred to me to not ask.” Brother Mymble laughed. “If I’m being honest, being stuck floating in the middle of nowhere without the proper supplies is kind of daunting to me.”

“I’ve been lost at sea before,” Snufkin attempted to reassure him, “and I got out just fine. It’ll be okay, I promise.” What he didn’t mention was that he had only been “lost at sea” for about an afternoon, with a lunch that Moominmamma had packed him and he had been home in time for dinner. He had meant to tie his rowboat under a tree, but he hadn’t done the knot properly, and ended up floating away. By the time he had woken up and realized his mistake, the entirety of Moominvalley was combing the ocean for him. 

But what Brother Mymble didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“You’ve done this before, huh?” Brother Mymble sounded suitably impressed. “Well, that makes me feel a bit better. But it’d make me feel a lot better if you tried to nap, kidd-er Snufkin. Alright?”

“Alright. If it’ll make you feel better.” Snufkin obediently lied back down, staring at the clouds. “Thank you.” Brother Mymble covered him with his doctor’s coat. “Let me know if you see a cool-looking cloud, okay?”

“I will.” Snufkin promised. He returned to his cloud gazing. Hopefully, the skies were just as clear back in Moominvalley. His heart broke when he thought of Moomin sitting on the bridge, waiting in vain. 

_Don’t worry_ , he promised silently _. I’m still coming back. I’ll just be a little later than usual. I didn’t mean to get caught in this flood and break my promise. I have so much to tell you Moomin. About the Winter Solstice in the South, pranking a park keeper by filling his laundry with dye, infiltrating a marching band with my mouth organ, and this weird holiday called Boxing Day..._

Snufkin fell asleep, still thinking about what he was going to tell Moomintroll when he got back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this isn't going to suddenly turn into Snufkin spends 50 chapters in a tiny rowboat doing nothing.  
> *Around the time the first Moomin books were being written, the whooping cough vaccine was pretty new, so whooping cough outbreaks hadn't reduced to the level they are today. That's why Snufkin both knows about it and is alarmed when Emil suggests that he has it. (Excellent bedside manner, Emil).  
> **Also as a side note, I did have a cough with a whoop in a few years ago, and while the doctor tested for it and said I had a bunch of the symptoms, it came up negative. That cough stayed with me until the weather finally warmed up that summer. Eugh. Anyway, while the speed of Snufkin's sickness is questionable, the description is the best I could make it.


	4. About Worried Moomins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and the comments! They always make my day! :D  
> As a side note, I'm head cannoning it that Snufkin doesn't know about his parents yet, and that nobody else knows either. (Also I'm head cannoning it that cannoning is a verb).  
> Enjoy! :)

Moomin sat on the bridge, gazing forlornly at the gray clouds reflecting in the water. It had been three weeks since he had woken up, and two weeks since the start of meteorological spring. Snufkin should’ve been here by now! 

“Moomin!” Snorkmaiden sat down beside him. “How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you.” Moomin sighed. He remembered his feeling of foreboding when Snufkin had left that autumn. He tried to ignore the thought, but it came back anyway. What if the floods had got Snufkin? What if he was never coming back?

“I know you’re anxious about Snufkin,” Snorkmaiden said, “but I was wondering if you wanted to play leap frog?”

“It won’t be the same without Snufkin.” Moomin said miserably.

“I know.” Snorkmaiden agreed. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all.” 

Moomin silently swung his legs back and forth.

“I grabbed Sniff and Little My.” Snorkmaiden pressed on. “We can play right by the yard so you won’t miss Snufkin when he shows up. And then he can play with us. Does that sound good?”

“I guess.” Moomin stood up. 

“Hooray!” Snorkmaiden leapt to her feet.

Moomin tried to focus on leapfrog, he really did. But he couldn’t stop staring at the bridge. Suddenly, he saw a figure in the distance.

“Ouch! My ears!” Sniff moaned.

“Moomin you stepped on my hand!” Little My complained, rubbing her knuckles.

“Oof!” Snorkmaiden exclaimed as Moomin bowled right into her.

“I’m sorry!” Moomin apologized. “Someone’s coming!” Moomin raced across the bridge. Could it be Snufkin? There was no spring tune, but perhaps he had lost his harmonica. 

When Moomin got closer, he could see that the figure was too stout to be his friend. He slowed down as he recognized the winter aviator hat and the bushy mustache. It was simply the postman. 

“Where have you been?” Little My admonished. “I was already for you to show up last week!”

“Did you have another trap set for me, you little gremlin?” the postman snapped. 

“So what if I did?” Little My challenged. “It’s already been ruined anyway; Moominpappa needed the fishing line.”

The postman muttered something under his breath that Moomin didn’t quite catch.

“Why thank you!” Little My beamed. 

“Anyway,” the postman huffed, “I have a letter for you Sniff. It’s from your Great-Uncle Hodgkins.”

“His spring letter!” Sniff took the envelope, ripping it open. 

“Mr. Postman,” Moomin hesitated, “have you delivered mail anywhere outside of Moominvalley recently?” 

“I was in Dam Valley recently, yes.” the postman sighed. “That’s why I was so late getting here with the mail. I got lucky. The Overpass Dam broke and took out everything to the west of Deer Valley. It’s caused quite a stir. There are folks from trying to make their way downstream, looking for lost fishermen and other relatives that disappeared when the dam broke. It’s not good. Not good at all.”

“Those poor people!” Snorkmaiden cried.

“I hope everyone can find each other.” Moomin sympathized with everyone in Dam Valley. He and Snorkmaiden had once been separated from Moominmamma and Moominpappa in a flood. It had not been a pleasant experience.

“Anyway.” the postman patted his bag. “I have a gardening catalog for your mother. Is she home?” 

“Yes.” Moomin nodded.

“I should go ahead and give this to her then!” the postman waved. “I’ll see you later!”

“Hm…” Little My mused. “I wonder if there’s still a way to prank him. I wonder how fast I can dig a pit? Sniff, do you want to help?”

“Hm. Oh yeah, sure.” Sniff was engrossed in his letter. 

“Great!” Little My thumped Sniff on the back, startling him.

“Hey!” Sniff complained.

Little My ran off to the shed, cackling loudly.

“Little My!” Moomin scolded. He threw one last glance over his shoulder on the off-chance Snufkin had been behind the postman and raced after Little My. He couldn’t let her scare this postman too, or how else were his mamma and pappa supposed to get their mail?

* * *

“Are you sure?” Moominpappa asked anxiously.

“Yeah.” the postman said gruffly. “There’s only a trickle left where the lake used to be. Anything in the path of the flood would’ve been destroyed.”

“I see.” Moominpappa felt his stomach clench.

“Is there any way we can help the villagers who’ve been affected by the Overpass Dam collapse?” Moominmamma asked.

“Most of the villages haven’t even dried out yet.” the postman informed them. “To get anywhere near, you’d need a boat. However, a small section has dried out between Deer Valley and the Southeastern Basin path. Family members are gathering there, to try and figure out how to find their lost relatives.”

“I see. We’ll have to figure out some way to aid them.” Moominmamma said. “Well, thank you for the catalog. And safe travels!” 

As soon as the postman left, Moominpappa turned to Moominmamma. “Snufkin.” 

“Snufkin!” Moominmamma gasped. “He left that way. You don’t think he…?”

“Let me take a look.” Moominpappa pulled out his map. Snufkin was never forthright with his travel plans, despite Moominpappa’s best attempts to get him to write down some sort of itinerary. Snufkin said that an itinerary would “tie him down” and that he “wouldn’t be able to travel as freely if he knew where he was going.” Snufkin was a lot like Moominpappa’s friend Joxter, free-spirited and headstrong.

Moominpappa had never intended to make Snufkin feel trapped; the only thing he had wanted was a general idea of where Snufkin would be in case he got into trouble and needed rescuing. Fortunately, Snufkin always came back on the same path he left on. Thank the Groke for small mercies. Moomnipappa traced the path that Snufkin had left on, and looked at all the places he could’ve left the path.

“Well?” Moominmamma fidgeted with the fringes of her apron. “Do you think he’s in trouble?”

“In order to get home, he would’ve most likely needed to take the Overpass Dam path.” Moominpappa sighed heavily. “There’s a few safe places where he could’ve stopped, but the real question is, did he?”

“If he did,” Moominmamma asked, “how soon would he be back?”

Moominpappa thought it over. “The soonest he’d be back would’ve been about three days ago. The latest, assuming he wasn’t running late for other reasons, would probably be in three more days, but Snufkin’s already been that way before, and he never goes the same place twice…” Moominpappa trailed off. 

“Do you think he’s late for other reasons?”

“I don’t know.” Moominpappa stroked his chin. “I want to believe that he’s alright, but I just have this awful feeling that I can’t shake. Part of me worries that he did run into some trouble this winter.”

“Then we’ll simply go find him.” Moominmamma decided. 

“That’s what I was thinking.” Moominpappa rolled up his map. “My only concern is Snufkin’s reaction if he’s really okay. He’s always cherished his independence, and I’m worried that, well, you know....”

“If we explain everything to Snufkin, he’ll understand.” Moominmamma reassured him. 

“I just don’t want him to disappear because he feels trapped. Joxter…” Moominpappa began.

“Joxter and Snufkin are two different mumriks.” Moominmamma pointed out. “Snufkin would understand. If you’re worried, I suppose we could tell him that we wanted to help the displaced villagers and just happened to run into him. As a matter of fact, I don’t see why we can’t actually do that while we’re there.”

“An excellent idea as usual, Mamma.” Moominpappa smiled. “What would I do without you?”

“Thank you dear.” Moominmamma pulled out some sacks. “I think we should leave tomorrow morning. How much food do you think I should pack?”

“About a two week’s supply.” Moominpappa answered confidently. “It’s best to be overcautious after all.

“Two weeks supply it is. Fourteen doesn’t divide evenly into three, so Moomin can carry the pack with a four days supply…” Moominmamma muttered to herself. “Moominpappa, will you grab Moomin? He should get packing if we want to leave tomorrow morning.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t bring Moomin.” Moominpappa suggested timidly.

“Not bring Moomin?” Moominmamma turned around, almost dropping the food she was holding. “Why not?”

“Moominmamma?” Moominpappa twiddled his thumbs. “Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe...maybe Snufkin...well…isn’t coming to Moominvalley because he’s d-er...because he’s...um...gravely incapacitated?”

“Don’t talk like that!” Moominmamma snapped.

“I’m sorry to upset you my dear,” Moominpappa apologized. “It’s just that we knew that was a possibility ever since he started traveling during the winter, and if the worst has happened, I think Moomin should be able to hold onto his hope for as long as possible. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss you know.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Moominmamma sighed. “I’m just scared that you might be right.” 

Moominpappa stood up and walked over to Moominmamma, enfolding her in his arms.

“I wanted Snufkin to stay this winter, did you know that?” Moominmamma admitted. “He did it that first winter, right after the comet. What’s to say that he wouldn’t do it again? We wouldn’t have to worry about where he was during our hibernation either. But I knew he wouldn’t be happy, so I didn’t ask. And his happiness is more important than any worry I might feel.” 

“I don’t blame you. I’ve had similar thoughts.” Moominpappa confessed. “But Snufkin is a wanderer who makes his own decisions. He isn’t our child.”

“He might as well be.” Moominmamma whispered.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Moominpappa squeezed her shoulder. “He might as well be.”

* * *

“You two are leaving on a trip?” Moomin echoed disbelievingly. 

“The postman told us about those poor people displaced by the flood, and we simply have to help them!” Moominmamma explained.

“We’ll be back in a few days.” Moominpappa reassured him. “Until then, I’m sure you’ll have fun at Snorkmaiden’s house. Snork will take good care of you.

“I know he will, but why can’t I come with you?” Mooomin asked. “I want to help the people too!”

“Sometimes…” Moominmamma trailed off. 

“Mamma?” Moomin frowned, trying to read his mother’s face. But she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Sometimes,” Moominpappa continued, “there are things that Mammas and Pappas must do on their own. This is one of those things. Do you understand?”

“I suppose so.” Moomin didn’t understand at all, but there was no arguing with Moominpappa once his mind was made up.

“Good.” Moominpappa patted Moomin on the shoulder. “We’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

“Is there anything you want me to tell Snufkin when he comes back?” Moomin asked. 

Was it just Moomin’s imagination, or did his pappa suddenly seem to tense up?

“He’s welcome to help himself to any of our canned goods.” Moominmamma said, “and he’s more than welcome to use my laundry supplies and the like. I won’t have anything fresh in the house for him to eat while I’m gone, but the minute I get back I can make him a huge feast with all his favorites.”

“Tell him—” Moominpappa faltered, “tell him that I said hello.”

“I will.” Moomin promised.

“Well, we should best be off!” Moominpappa grasped his walking stick. “Tally-ho, my dear!”

“Yes Moominpappa.” Moominmamma gently chuckled.

Moomin stood by the bridge, waving to his parents as they embarked on their journey. He couldn’t help but notice that their tails were drooping awfully low for two people about to set off on an adventure to help others.

He had a sinking feeling that his parents were hiding something from him.

But what would they have to lie about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Snufkin's in the next chapter. I haven't forgotten about him. :)


	5. About a Lucky Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you all liked the Moominparents last chapter! They were my favorite part about that chapter. :3  
> As promised, here's Snufkin. Thank you all, and enjoy! :D

Snufkin had heard a great many stories from his fellow travelers over the years. Almost inevitably, the traveler would say something along the lines of, “and then time passed.” Snufkin had thought that it was a simple storytelling device, a way to speed the story along to a more exciting part. In his opinion, time rarely just passed. There was always some creature, some weather, some fishing in the middle. Every day was an adventure worthy of a story, one just had to know how to tell it.

That was until he’d ended up stranded in a boat with Brother Mymble and Emil. There was no other way to describe the time other than passing.

The food was terrible. The trio mostly lived on grasses, algae, and bugs. Brother Mymble had tried to warm some algae with a magnifying glass once, in the hopes that maybe they could eventually cook fish safely, but had only succeeded in scorching the side of the boat (Snufkin had been sleeping or he would’ve never let him try). The flood was thankfully tossing up the occasional berry bush and canned delicacy, varying the usual bland sustenance. Interestingly, Snufkin wasn’t normally that hungry, despite Brother Mymble and Emil’s best efforts to make him eat. He had originally chalked it up to the sub-par cuisine, but the other two were definitely hungry though. Snufkin occasionally caught them pawing at their stomachs. Brother Mymble had explained that sometimes the body tells the stomach not to eat when it’s sick because it’s tired and doesn’t want to do anything. 

“But,” he stressed, “that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat. Food will help your body. I promise.”

Snufkin wanted to believe him, but the flip-flopping of his stomach said otherwise. 

The weather was bad. Even though the spring thaw had come early, the temperatures had suddenly decided to drop to the point where they could see their breath in the morning. The doctors had unanimously decided that if Snufkin wore his scarf around his face and stayed wrapped in blankets, it would help his cough. Snufkin obeyed, but reluctantly. Breathing in his own air felt like a kind of suffocation, even if it did keep the cold out of his lungs. 

Snufkin was also suffering from cabin fever. Mumriks hated staying in small places for long periods of time, and after about a week his instincts were screaming at him to jump off the boat and swim somewhere else. He had even started trying to jump in the river in his sleep. Brother Mymble and Emil had started to keep watch at night, making sure he stayed dry and on board. Snufkin wasn’t sure why he was sleepwalking. He’d gone on long fishing trips before and not had any problems. Maybe the feeling of entrapment he felt from sharing a small space with a lot of people was seeping into his subconscious. 

Snufkin had learned a few things about his companions. Brother Mymble was the third eldest in his family, and took care of his eight younger siblings (it was quite unusual for a Mymble family to be that small, but Snufkin didn’t press him on it). Brother Mymble loved cracking jokes and was well known in Dam Valley for his bedside manner and optimistic demeanor. Emil had been a doctor for almost 30 years, and was a few years away from retiring and passing his practice down to Brother Mymble. A lifelong bachelor and an only child, he had become a sort of uncle to Brother Mymble. He was well respected for his wisdom and knowledge. For two city doctors who had almost never left their hometown, they had a large amount of stories. Brother Mymble told stories about patients who he had to rescue from perilous situations. Emil told long tales about diagnosing some of the rarest diseases. 

Snufkin tried to pass the time by telling stories about his own travels and of his adventures in Moominvalley, but as the days wore on he became less and less able to finish them. He’d either run out of breath, or he’d fall asleep in the middle. He knew he was getting worse, even if neither Brother Mymble or Emil would admit it. His coughing fits were becoming longer and more frequent. Emil had started to refer to Snufkin’s coughs as “productive”. (Brother Mymble had later explained to him that “productive” was the fancy doctor term for hacking up nasty gunk). He had vivid fever dreams that rarely made sense and left him feeling as if he had run several miles. Once he had even woken up certain that he was in Moomin’s house, making bark boats. It had taken Brother Mymble and Emil quite a long time to calm him down after that. 

Brother Mymble and Emil, despite their city background, had started to become pretty good survivalists. Which was good, because Snufkin wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to help them. They’d started to ask him what his plans were once they got on land. Snufkin always took care to be particularly vague when the conversation swung that way. It wasn’t because he didn’t know what to do, he had plenty of ideas, but he didn’t think they would be seeing land anytime soon. If his memory of the area was correct,(how he wished that he had his map!), then they were smack dab in the middle of an area with low elevation. The water level would take weeks to drain to a reasonable level, and several months if the weather stayed the way it was. He should do the responsible thing and crush their hopes, but he couldn’t quite do it. Seeing them with so much hope made him happy, even if their hopes were in vain. Snufkin at least had the ability to escape somewhat in his fever dreams. 

The worst thing about being stuck in the rowboat was that when they weren’t busy trying to survive, they had to deal with boredom. Snufkin wished that he had his harmonica with him, but even if it magically floated back to him, he doubted that he’d be able to play without launching into a coughing fit. Occasionally, he would play I Spy with Emil or gaze at clouds with Brother Mymble. Emil hated gazing at clouds, saying that it was a waste of time trying to make up shapes out of fluff while Brother Mymble hated playing I Spy, saying that I Spy was only looking for the same 10 objects over and over again. Snufkin didn’t care what sort of game he played, as long as he was distracted from the fact that he couldn’t go anywhere and was probably never going to see Moominvalley ever again. 

Today, he and Brother Mymble were gazing at clouds. They hadn’t been able to play that game for awhile because the sky had been overcast. But the sky was finally blue and full of clouds. Snufkin liked days with blue sky because the weather was slightly warmer and his cough wasn’t nearly as bad. Emil had declined, as usual, and was playing I Spy by himself. 

“What do you think about that cloud, Brother Mymble?” Snufkin asked, pointing at a crescent-shaped cloud.

“A croissant.” Brother Mymble decided. 

“A what?”

“It’s a type of bread.” Brother Mymble explained. “It’s nice and flaky, and it tastes amazing with butter…”

“I thought you two had banned food items.” Emil complained. “Stop making me hungry.”

“Sorry.” Brother Mymble apologized. “Let’s see...Snufkin, what do you think about that cloud over there?” he gestured to an oval-shaped cloud with a circle on top.

“Hm…” Snufkin stared at it for a minute. The wind shifted the cloud just a bit. It lacked a tail, but it almost looked like…

“Moomintroll.” Snufkin blurted before he could stop himself. 

“I suppose it does look like a Moomintroll.” Brother Mymble agreed. “It’s fluffy, white…” His eyes widened in understanding. “ _Oh_. You’re thinking of your friend Moomin, aren’t you?”

“Do you ever think about your siblings?” Snufkin asked.

“Every minute of every day.” Brother Mymble sighed. “I’m sure they’re doing just fine without me but it’s hard not to worry, y’know?”

Snufkin nodded. 

“If you want the truth,” Brother Mymble admitted, “I didn’t really see a croissant in the clouds. I saw the sandbar that I used to take my siblings out to when they were younger. We used to spend hours and hours there, swimming and catching fish, and we’d get so sunburned...” He trailed off, lost in memories. “I can’t wait to see them again.”

“Maybe we should try a different cloud—” Snufkin launched into a coughing fit. 

“You okay?” Brother Mymble rustled around in his bag. “That reminds me, I think it’s about time for your next fever pill.” 

Snufkin caught his breath. “Okay.” He pushed himself up. The effort made spots dance around his eyes, but at least he had some dignity by doing it on his own. 

Brother Mymble patiently waited for Snufkin to collect himself. “Ready?” 

“Yes.” Snufkin held out his paws.

“We should probably get you some water.” Brother Mymble remembered. “Emil, would you…?”

“Sure.” Emil unscrewed the jar that held their purified water supply. “Drink up, Snufkin.”

Snufkin scowled at the water jar. There was only a small sip left, barely enough to take his medicine. “Someone forgot to fill the jar.” he chastised as he swallowed his pills. “Never mind though. I can do it. Emil, can I have the iodine?” 

“Um...we can fill it l _-ater_?” Emil’s voice cracked. 

“No we can’t.” Snufkin sighed. “You said so yourself, it takes awhile for the iodine to purify the water.”

“That’s true, I did…” Emil played with his long, curly mustache.

“Emil.” Snufkin pressed. “I want to fill the water jar. Can I have the iodine?”

“We’re out.” Emil admitted.

“Out?!” Brother Mymble exclaimed.

“Out?” Snufkin echoed disbelievingly. 

“Out.” Emil sadly confirmed. 

“Are you sure you don’t have more?” Snufkin asked hopefully.

“I don’t.” Emil held up the empty vial. “This was it.”

“Well.” Snufkin felt his heart sink into his stomach. There was plenty of water around them, but it was filled with nasty diseases that could finish them off. “Perhaps we could start drinking rainwater?”

“It hasn’t rained in awhile.” Emil pointed out. “And the last rain water system we set up didn’t get us a lot.”

“True.” Snufkin wracked his brains, but he couldn’t figure out anyway to purify water without a fire, and they couldn’t start a fire without destroying the ship.

“Let’s not think about it now.” Brother Mymble decided. “It’ll be ages until the next rain storm, and I’m sure there are certain foods that have a high water content. It’s possible that someone canned some radishes or something.”

“We can at least design a better rain water system while we wait.” Emil countered. 

“Yes, that’s true.” Snufkin felt a little bit better. The rain water system problem was way more manageable than figuring out how to purify water. “So last time, our problem was that our system resulted in a lot of rainwater run-off that ended up sloshed on the boat or into the river.”

“An unfortunate flaw.” Emil lamented. “I was certain that the raincoat would be a better receptacle.”

“The jar has been good for water storage back when we could just purify more, but we do need to make a bigger one now if we’re just relying on rain water.” Snufkin mused. “Emil, you know boats better than I do. Is there any way to somehow remove part of the boat…”

“You’ve asked me that before. The answer is no.” Emil sighed. “This conversation is sounding depressingly like the last one we had.” 

“Guys, I found a house.” Brother Mymble whispered.

“Now is not the time to be playing your cloud game.” Emil chastised. “You should help Snufkin and I come up with a new water storage facility.”

“No really.” Brother Mymble pointed towards the bow. “There’s a house right there. And if I’m not mistaken, it has a sail too.”

Snufkin quickly turned around. For a minute, he thought he was having another fever induced dream. A large red-and-green one-story house was on the horizon, bobbing in the waves. A patchwork quilt served as a sail.

He pinched himself. But he was still seeing it.

 _They were saved._

“Get ready, everyone!” Emil thrust the makeshift paddle into the river. “We have to catch that boat! Er, that house! That boat-house! 

“House boat?” Brother Mymble suggested.

You know what I mean!” Emil snapped. “Help me bring her around!” 

“With what?” Brother Mymble asked.

“I don’t know!” Emil shouted. “Make something up!” 

“If we tie these together, maybe we can make a makeshift rope!” Snufkin gestured at the tarp and the raincoats that covered him.

“She’s going really fast!” Emil said worriedly. “There’s no time for that!”

“Then we have to get their attention—” Snufkin tried to stand up, but the effort made him launch into a coughing fit.

“Help!” Brother Mymble yelled.

“Over here!” Emil waved the makeshift paddle.

Snufkin couldn’t stop coughing. It was not the noise he wanted to make, but hopefully his whooping got the house owner’s attention anyway. 

“It’s not working!” Emil clenched the paddle angrily. “It must be abandoned!” 

“Or they’re asleep.” Brother Mymble said dejectedly. 

Snufkin finally finished his fit. The spots danced in his eyes. “There must be something we can do!” He said desperately. 

“I’m assuming our oath would apply here?” Brother Mymble asked. 

“Indubitably.” Emil agreed.

“Oath…?” Snufkin looked back and forth between the doctors. Had they been discussing stuff behind his back again?

"Well then, there's only one thing to do." Brother Mymble put the pill bottle in Snufkin’s paws and hoisted him into the air.

"Hey! P-put me down!" Snufkin protested.

"Don't worry, I throw my siblings all the time!" Brother Mymble reassured him.

"What?" Before Snufkin could figure out what was happening, he was soaring through the air, landing on the veranda with a loud _thump_.

"I told you it was alright!" Brother Mymble said triumphantly. 

“No!” Snufkin looked back at the boat in shock. 

“We’ll be fine!” Emil promised.

“You’re safe now!” Brother Mymble yelled back as the rowboat floated further away. “That’s all that matters!” 

_But you’re not going to be fine!_ Snufkin thought to himself as he struggled to his feet. His lungs burned. His muscles ached after not being used for so long. Somehow, he managed to grasp the doorknob. He had to get help!

The door was locked.

Snufkin pounded desperately at the door. “Open up! Please! I need hel- _hack! Hack_!” His cough had started again. What terrible timing!

A female hemulen with her hair tied in a bun opened the door. “My dear child! What’s the matter?” 

“ _Whoop_!” Snufkin finished his latest bout of coughing. “My friends! Please Ma’am!” He gestured wildly behind him. 

“Your friends…” the hemulen glanced behind Snufkin, wrinkling her nose.

Snufkin was suddenly aware about how dirty and unkempt he must appear to the hemulen. Normally, he wouldn’t care what others thought of him, but this was an emergency.

“They’re highly educated men!” Snufkin pleaded, gripping the door frame. “They’re doctors! Just because someone hangs out with a mumrik doesn’t mean that they’re thieving vagrants who—” 

“Calm yourself child.” the hemulen shushed him. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried off. 

Snufkin glanced fearfully over his shoulder. Emil was desperately trying to fight the current, but he was only managing to slow the boat down. They were running out of time. 

The hemulen came back with an entire basket full of knitting balls. “Throw these.” She commanded. 

Snufkin could barely stand, but he took a ball anyway. His first throw barely cleared the veranda, landing in the water with a _plunk._

“Hold on to the other end.” the hemulen snapped, throwing one of her own. Hers fared a bit better, landing only a bit too far to the left. 

“Right.” Snufkin briefly wondered why such a simple thing had not occurred to him. He threw another one, which landed a bit short as well. 

Soon, the water was covered in several different colors of knitting balls. Brother Mymble managed to grab a few of them and threw them in the boat. 

“Pull!” the hemulen thrust a green, blue, and yellow thread into Snufkin’s paws.

The world was spinning and tingled in dots, but Snufkin put his foot down and leaned back with everything he had. His aching body protested and started another coughing fit. Yet slowly but surely, he managed to pull the thread closer and closer. Hopefully he was helping at least a little.

“Snufkin, stop!” Suddenly, Brother Mymble was beside him, patting his shoulder. “We’re on the porch, it’s okay. You did great. Let go now.”

The threads dropped from Snufkin’s hands. The world was small and fuzzy. 

“Snufkin?” Someone asked. 

The adrenaline gone from his body, Snufkin fainted into Brother Mymble’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> -I'm not entirely sure why you can lose your appetite when you're sick, and neither is the internet (from a few quick Google searches anyway). Brother Mymble's explanation should not be taken with a grain of salt (or pepper, if you feel so inclined).  
> -Throwing living creatures is a bad idea, unless you're desperate.  
> -The part where Snufkin insists that Emil and Brother Mymble were "highly educated men" is inspired by episode 36 of the 90s anime. In it, Snufkin tells a witch something along the lines of "threatening to do magic tricks won't work on Moomnipappa because he is a highly educated man" while Moominpappa just stands there tilting his head, almost like he's thinking "please don't provoke the lady Snufkin".  
> -The houseboat is a small part of why I tagged the story "Questionable Water physics" ;)


	6. About Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you guys are doing well. Here's another chapter!

It started out fairly mild.

Snufkin woke up, covered in sweat as usual. Only this time, he smelled like lavender. He glanced around. He was in a house. It was a house, right?

If it was, then why could he still feel the boat rocking?

“...your idea of doctoring is throwing children on a porch!” a female voice yelled.

“I was following the Moomincratic Oath!” A voice protested. _Brother Mymble’s?_

“Which part?” the female voice challenged. 

“To do whatever it takes to help the patient!” Brother Mymble explained. 

“To place thy needs second, and to honor the patient before thyself.” Emil corrected. (At least, Snufkin thought it was Emil).

“Well, I paraphrased it.” Brother Mymble admitted. 

“What about the part of the Moomincratic Oath where one does not intentionally injure their patient?” the female voice retorted. 

“He got up.” Brother Mymble pointed out. “And I was trying to save him, not hurt him. Under the circumstances, what choice did I have?”

 _Moomincratic...Moomin...cratic...Moomin?_ Things clicked in Snufkin’s head. Moomin was here! He had to go and see him! Shivering, he tried to rise out of bed. 

The door swung open. A figure came in, carrying in a tray. “Oh, Snufkin’s awake!”

Snufkin squinted. He couldn’t make out the figure properly, but it almost looked like…

“Moominmamma?” he asked.

“No. I’m the seamstress hemulen. Do you want some of my soup, dear?”

“Where’s Moomin?” Snufkin asked her.

The figure hesitated. “I don’t…”

Brother Mymble elbowed her in the ribs. “Seamstress Hemulen.” he said sternly. 

“Um...he’s outside, waiting for you to get better!” she said cheerily.

“You’re not Moominmamma.” Snufkin frowned. “What’s happening?”

“There was a flood…” the figure jumped as Brother Mymble elbowed her again.

“A flood? Are the Moomins alright?” Snufkin struggled to rise, but the blankets felt _so heavy_ and _so soft_ …..

“They’re fine.” Brother Mymble reassured him. “I promise. Why don’t you try some of the soup that Seamstress Hemulen made?”

“Seamstress…” Snufkin mused to himself as the hemulen and Brother Mymble put him in a sitting position. A savory odor wafted under his nostrils. “Is that real food?”

“Yes. It’s chicken broth soup.” Seamstress nodded. “Good for fevers.”

 _Fevers_ … Snufkin took a sip of the soup. “It tastes good.”

“I’m glad you like it!” Seamstress said happily. 

Snufkin tried to feed himself the rest of the soup, but his hand was shaking. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep. He felt almost feverish. 

_Fevers_... “Don’t I have fever pills?” Snufkin asked. 

“In the shuffle to get the doctors on board, they were accidentally knocked overboard.” Seamstress explained. 

“Oh.” Snufkin set the spoon down to take a rest. Missing fever pills were not good.

“Mind if I take over?” Seamstress asked.

“Take over...what?”

“You’re about to fall asleep.” Brother Mymble pointed out. “And you need to eat something. I’ll do some checks on you while Seamstress feeds you. Is that alright?”

“I suppose.” Snufkin yawned. “Where did…where did he go?” Snufkin couldn’t remember the fillyjonk’s name.

“Emil?” Brother Mymble asked, wrapping a blood pressure gague around Snufkin’s arm.

Snufkin nodded. 

“He’s fishing. He hasn’t caught a lot, but Seamstress Hemulen was thankfully well-stocked over the winter. We’ll be alright.”

 _Fishing_ … “I’m good at fishing.” Snufkin told him.

“I know.” Brother Mymble smiled. “You’ve told us plenty of stories. When you get better, you’ll have to come fishing with us. The warm weather will be good for your lungs.”

“Okay…” Snufkin felt his eyes start to droop. “No more soup.” he requested just before he slipped back into dreamland. 

* * *

It was a hot summer day. Snufkin was playing with Moomin in a stream. They were jumping up and down, splashing each other…

Snufkin tripped and fell in.

Suddenly, he was small, and in a box. He pawed at the sides, desperately trying to climb out.

“You’ll be fine.” the voice promised. “I’ll see you again. I love you.”

Tears ran down his face as he floated away, bobbing up and down. Why couldn’t she come with? Why was she leaving him alone?

He was on a swing, grinning as the breeze tickled his hair. He was going so high!

“Is it like the one you saw on your travels?” Moominpappa asked.

“Yes!” Snufkin laughed. “Yes!”

“I wanna turn!” Moomin begged.

Snufkin decided to show off with a trick he had learned. He let go of the swing, and…

Snufkin had left Moominvalley a bit later than usual. The snow was on the ground. He nervously shouldered his pack. If he didn’t hurry, he’d run into…

Over in the distance, Snufkin saw the figure of the Groke. He froze, trying to figure out what to do. Then he noticed that she wasn’t moving. She was just standing there, her arms opened wide. 

“Is he waking up?” 

“I think so...quick, the medicine!” 

Snufkin blinked. Everything was a blur. Figures danced around his vision like leaves blown in the wind. 

“Snufkin, it’s me. Brother Mymble. I have something to help your fever. Could you open your mouth for me?”

Snufkin had heard from someone that this was a bad idea. He wasn’t sure who or why, but he knew. He batted away the spoon with his paw.

“Should we try forcing him to eat it?” 

Snufkin’s forehead suddenly felt very cool. Someone was patting it rhythmically. _What in the world?_

“I don’t see any other choice…”

“Let me try something.”

Snufkin felt the bed sink a little. Moominmamma had a spoon in her hand.

“Could you try some for me, little one?” Moominmamma asked.

Snufkin frowned for a minute. Moominmamma never called him little. She knew better. But she was sitting right next to him…

He didn’t protest as she slid the spoon into his mouth. Instantly, he wanted to spit it back out, but this was _Moominmamma’s cooking_. One didn’t spit out his best friend’s mother’s food. Sure, it tasted more like backwash than her usual cooking, but maybe she was having a bad day? Everyone did once in awhile. 

“That was a nice dish.” Snufkin murmured as he closed his eyes again.

There was a fire. Snufkin watched as it enveloped Moominhouse. Everyone was throwing buckets of water on it, but there was nothing to be done. Nothing left. Nobody left.

The comet was fast approaching, but there was a lake to be crossed. Snufkin had taught the others how to walk on stilts, but everything was so hot, and his stilts threatened to slip out of his sweaty paws…

He was at a volcano. The entire moomin family, Sniff, Little My, and a few others were there. They were having a cookout.

“Do you want the last s’more, Snufkin?” Moomin asked.

“I don’t think this is very safe.” Snufkin warned. “It looks active.”

“We’re wearing sunscreen.” Moominpappa pointed out.

“Do you need some more?” Moominmamma asked.

“Don’t you all have fur?” Snufkin was confused. None of this was making any sense. “Why are you all…why am I...”

The Groke appeared again. Snufkin could see her in the distance, arms open wide. He was morbidly curious. He took one step forward, and then another.

She stood as still as a statue. 

“Is it ready?”

“It’s as cold as I can possibly make it.”

“It’ll have to do. Brother Mymble, if you could...”

Snufkin felt someone lift him. He could only groan in protest.

“It’s me again. Brother Mymble. Emil, Seamstress, and I are going to give you a nice cool bath to lower that temperature of yours.”

“Uhhnuhhh.” Snufkin moaned. 

“Take it easy, it’s kind of a high tub here.”

Suddenly, Snufkin was dunked in the lake. He panicked, trying to fight his way out.

“I hate this too bud, but just a bit longer. Okay?” 

Snufkin was gripping the flotsam for dear life, he was bobbing in the box, he was going to be alone and forgotten all over again.

“Snufkin…”

“Snufkin…”

“Snufkin…”

“Snufkin…?”

The groke was in front of him now. Just a few steps more and he would reach it. He knew better, he definitely knew better, but all the groke had ever wanted was a friend, a companion, to feel warm inside. Who could ever fault the groke for that?

The groke gazed at him expectantly, her mouth open in a wide, toothy grin. 

Snufkin snapped to his senses. 

“I understand now.” Snufkin gripped the straps on his pack. “I understand this part, at least. But I can’t. Not yet. You understand, don’t you?” 

The groke tipped her head.

“I have people waiting on me. People that I love. Moomin, Moominmamma, Moominpappa, Little My, Sniff...you understand, don’t you? I’m not ready yet.”

The groke said nothing.

“Must I go now?” Snufkin swallowed nervously.

The groke said nothing.

“Please.” Snufkin could feel himself shaking.

The groke’s grin vanished. She slowly turned around and made her way across the tundra. 

Weak with relief, Snufkin collapsed to his knees. That had been too close for comfort. He watched as the groke vanished into the beyond. Grokes weren’t inherently bad, he knew. They only wanted comfort and love. They just had the unfortunate effect of freezing people It made sense that they’d want to be with someone at the end, to hug them, to ease their soul into the next life. After all, there was no more harm to be done. 

But if this was near death, then why had Snufkin never heard stories about this before?

That didn’t matter now. If he was right, and this was almost death, he needed to go the other way. Snufkin stood up, turned around, and started back. 

* * *

The normally desolate Dam Overpass was quite crowded. Moominmamma and Moominpappa constantly ran into travelers. They were all looking for the same things: their lost fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins. The Moomins usually camped with a family or two and had a potluck while swapping stories over the campfire. Moominmamma was relieved that she had packed extra food. None of them had seen a mumrik, but a young Whomper looking for his twin brother directed them towards the intersection of the Overpass Dam Path and the Over Dam Underpass.

“There’s a small dredging operation going on there.” the whomper explained. “Everyone from the surrounding area has people there. If anyone has seen your son, they’ll tell you.”

“Thank you very much.” Moominmamma said. “Are you sure you don’t need any food?”

“I don’t.” The whomper scratched his head. “I’m sure my brother will have something, some mymbles told me they saw him with a huge bag. That’s the nice thing about being a twin. You don’t have to describe your brother to anyone, you just ask someone if they’ve seen you anywhere recently.”

Moominpappa and Moominmamma followed the whomper’s directions. They still hadn’t seen Snufkin. Maybe they had passed each other somehow. 

Two kilometers later, the two came across a large clearing. Branches and logs were strewn everywhere. It was as if the bobble had used the forest to massage his aching shoulders. Moominpappa stopped in his tracks. _Was this what the flood had done?_

“That’s strange.” Moominmamma frowned. “I thought we still had another kilometer or so to go.”

“I think…” Moominpappa had the powerful urge to lie to his wife, to protect her, but that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. “I think the dam flood did this.”

“Goodness!” Moominmamma’s paws flew to her mouth. “I hope Snufkin was inside when it broke. I’m sure he’ll have a great story to tell us when we find him.”

“Yes, indeed.” Moominpappa agreed. His wife was an optimist, and he loved her for it. He just had to believe that she was right. His spirits had dropped quite a few times on their journey, and she had always picked them back up. But still, looking at the snapped trees, leave piles, and the random debris made his stomach twist.

A while later, the moomins heard the sound of people chattering, almost like a distant market. Moominpappa wrinkled his nose. “I can smell the river my dear. We’re getting close.”

Moominmamma held out her paw. Moominpappa took it and squeezed it encouragingly. It felt surprisingly cool. 

The flood had turned the trail intersection into a beach, with the river splashing up against the Overpass Dam trail. The trail intersection was utter madness. There were people from all walks of life. There was a family of moomins, happily hugging a fillyjonk. There was a fuzzy with her young daughter, scanning the crowd. There was also a group of misabels dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs (although it was difficult to tell if they had just received bad news or if they were just crying because they were surrounded by sad people). There was a small group of mymbles that appeared to be running everything. Moominpappa and Moominmamma made their way to them.

“Good afternoon.” The mymble adjusted her glasses. “My name is Little My.”

“Little My? We know a Little My!” Moominmamma was surprised. “Little My” was about as tall as her! Little My’s bun was pulled tight and her clothes were pressed sharply, giving her the appearance of being even taller. She also appeared to be very prim and proper. She was completely different from the Little My the moomins knew. 

“We mymbles like to reuse names.” Little My explained. “As a species, we have a lot of offspring, so it’s helpful to reuse the good ones. There’s only so many good names out there, you know. I once heard of a mymble who had fifty kids and named the last one Codfish because she just couldn’t be bothered with the task anymore. Motherhood is exhausting. Or so I’m told.” Little My pulled out a clipboard. “But I digress. My siblings and I are heading this operation here, with the help of some of my brother’s friends. And a few of my own, of course. I assume you’re looking for someone?”

“Yes. My name is Moominmamma, and this is Moominpappa. We’re looking for a mumrik named Snufkin. He’s about this tall,” Moominmamma held her paw out, “and he has auburn hair and midnight-colored eyes. He also wears a green smock and a green hat with a red feather.”

Little My frowned thoughtfully. She paged through her notes until she found a page near the back. “Does he have a long nose that’s rounded at the end?”

“Why yes!” Moominmamma broke out into a grin. “Have you seen him? Is he here?”

“I do have a lead for you.” Little My said quietly. “A hemulen by the name of Topias said he saw a mumrik named Snufkin. The description matches too.”

“That’s wonderful!” Moominmamma clapped her paws together. “Is Snufkin alright?”

“I should let Topias tell you.” Little My closed her clipboard. “Follow me. His tent’s this way.”

“Is he alright?” Moominpappa pressed. 

“Topias knows more than I do.” Little My said evasively. “You should talk to him. He’s been waiting for you two ever since he found...er-that is found out about the dam collapse. He figured some of his close friends would come looking for him soon enough.”

Moominpappa accepted her answer. He had no choice. But he knew, just like he knew when Hopkins showed up on his doorstep all those years ago, holding a crying baby Sniff with no Muddler or Fuzzy in sight. And how he'd known when the Mymble had shown up, her eyes blotchy with tears, asking for Joxter.

Something was terribly wrong.

* * *

Moominmamma could sense her husband’s apprehension as Little My lead them to to Topias’s tent. If she was being honest with herself, she was worried too. Why would Little My refuse to tell them if Snufkin was alright? Was he...no. There had to be another reason. Maybe…maybe Snufkin had stayed with this hemulen during the flood, and the hemulen would tell them that Snufkin had left for Moominvalley a day ago. Yes, that had to be it. 

“Mister Topias sir?” Little My knocked gently on the tent flap. “A Moominpappa and a Mooinmamma are here. The ones that knew Snufkin.”

“One moment my dear!” there was some rustling, and then an elderly hemulen poked his head around the tent flap. He adjusted his spectacles. “Come in, come in!” 

Moominpappa and Moominmamma entered the tent. Topias held out a paw to stop Little My. “I’d rather talk with them alone, if you don’t mind.”

“I suppose I do have other things to do…” Little My drummed her fingers anxiously on her clipboard.

“Your brother would be proud of you.” Topias reassured her. 

“Thank you.” Little My turned to the moomins. “I’m sorry.” she gave a short half-bow before leaving the tent, dropping the flap behind her. 

“Why don’t you two have a seat?” Topias gestured to the left tent wall. 

Moominmamma and Moominpappa sat down.

“Little My…” Topias sighed. “Her elder brother is a doctor. He went missing during the dam collapse. He was trying to give medicine to a sick kid. Thankfully, the kid pulled through, but he and the doctor he was with were swept away in the storm. Usually, Brother Mymble and Emil would be the ones pulling the community together in a crisis like this, but she’s trying to fill their shoes. It’s admirable, but it’s taking a toll on her.”

“She seemed like such a lovely young lady.” Moominmamma said sadly. “I hope she finds her brother.”

“I hope so too.” Topias nodded. 

“So you’re the last person who saw Snufkin, correct?” Moominpappa asked. 

“Yes, I was.” the hemulen started to clean his glasses. “The rain was coming down hard, and I saw him walking with his pack. The night was cold, and I had been hoping for company anyway, so I invited him inside for some coffee and biscuits. As we dined, the weather got worse, but Snufkin was insistent. He needed to make it back to Moominvalley by the first day of spring because he had promised his friend Moomin. I told him to wait, but…”

Topias paused his story and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. He went out into the storm as soon as he finished eating. Said he was going to take the Overpass Path. A few hours later, the dam broke.”

Moominmamma could hear Moominpappa gasp, but she felt like she was swimming in deep water. _Snufkin...went out? Into the dam flood? Did that mean...no, it couldn’t!_

“Do you know anything else?” Moominmamma asked. “What happened to him?”

“He spoke fondly of you two.” Topias said. “Moominpappa, an adventurer and a writer. Moominmamma, the most level-headed person in the world with a heart of gold. It was one of the few things I could get him to talk about actually. He was a private sort of fellow.”

“My wife and I want to know what happened.” Moominpappa pressed the hemulen.

“After the water receded, I went down to this intersection here, where they were doing some dredging. I looked over, and…” tears started to fall down the hemulen’s face. “I found...I…”

Moominmamma patted the hemulen on his shoulder. “It’s alright.”

“Thank you, but I should be comforting you! How ungentlemanly of me.” Topias blew his nose with a handkerchief. “I-I found his things. A backpack and a green hat with a red feather.”

“ _No_!” Moominpappa exclaimed.

Moominmamma shook her head. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have his things.” Sniffling, Topias moved aside a bed sheet that had been sitting in the corner. Indeed, Snufkin’s hat and pack were sitting there, wrinkled but otherwise unharmed. Moominmamma instinctively reached for Snufkin’s hat. Topias gave it to her. She absently stroked the feather, still not comprehending. 

“Did you-did they-was there a body?” Moominpappa asked. 

“We haven’t found one yet.” Topias took off his tear-stained glasses, not even attempting to wipe them. “Having said that...you two have seen the destruction. Anyone who was in the path of that wave...they’re gone. I’m sorry.”

“ _By the bobble_.” Moominpappa breathed. 

Moominmamma heard a buzzing in her ear. Images of the past floated by.

The day she met Snufkin, during the comet. He was so skinny back then….

The day she taught him how to clean fish…

Snufkin and Moomin, sitting by the river and fishing…

Snufkin walking out to face flesh-eating plants, armed with nothing but his harmonica…

Snufkin finding them during that Midsummer flood, when they had put up that play…

He’d managed to find them once. He could find them again. All he would’ve had to do was survive that wave.

And manage to stay above water for several weeks...

And find something to eat…

And somewhere to sleep...

Even Moominmamma’s everlasting optimism was failing her. The odds of surviving the waves were low enough, if Topias was to be believed, but him surviving the wave, staying afloat in the water for that long, and doing basic survival skills...she felt her hopes start to dwindle. _No, no, no_!

Moominmamma clenched Snufkin’s hat in her paws and wept.


	7. About Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews! Sorry for the wait, I had a bit of a writer's block, but I've outlined the story again, so hopefully that fixes it.   
> Hopefully, this is worth the wait! :D

Snufkin woke up. His head felt like it was full, of what he wasn’t sure, but definitely full. He tried to take a deep breath, and started to cough.

“Snufkin.” Snufkin heard a creaky chair, and then Brother Mymble appeared. “Good morning.”

“Good borning.” Snufkin sniffed. Slowly, his mind started to put things together. 

“You seem a bit stuffed.” Brother Mymble observed. “I can get you some soup, and then we can see about drawing up a nice, hot bath for you. Does that sound good?”

Snufkin frowned. “How long was I out?” 

“Well, it’s been five days.” Brother Mymble sat on the edge of his bed and handed Snufkin a handkerchief. “I’m glad to see you back, bud.” 

_Five days?_ Snufkin remembered his fever dreams. For whatever reason, it had felt a lot shorter than five days. “What habbened?”

“We lost the fever meds, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway there was only a few doses left, but the timing was bad. Thankfully, Seamstress Hemulen had some herbs that could be used in medicine stocked away, but they weren’t very powerful and it took a long time to cook, so when we had to give it to you at the height of the fever…” Brother Mymble stopped himself. “But I don’t suppose you remember Seamstress Hemulen, do you?”

“I do.” Snufkin blew his nose.

“Really?” Brother Mymble seemed surprised. “You kept calling her Moominmamma.”

“Oh.” Snufkin felt his ears redden. “Did I-did I do anything else?”

“Hm...you thought you were in Moominhouse. And you thought Emil was a mean old woman named Mrs. Fillyonk.” Brother Mymble fluffed Snufkin’s pillows for him and helped him sit up. “You spent a good deal of time talking to the air because you thought you saw Moomin, Moominpappa, or Sniff. You thought I knew where Little My was hiding because I was a Mymble, I think that was your reasoning anyway, towards the second day your speech was kind of slurry...is she a friend of yours?”

Snufkin nodded. 

“My sister’s name is Little My. What a coincidence!” Brother Mymble gave a half-laugh. Was it Snufkin’s imagination, or was Brother Mymble more tired than usual?

“Thang you.” Snufkin smiled. “For eberyting.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright.” Brother Mymble squeezed Snufkin’s shoulder.

“Is he awake?” Seamstress Hemulen poked her head around the door frame. “I have some soup!” 

“Yes. And he’s finally aware, thank groke.” Brother Mymble turned to Snufkin. “Do you think you’re well enough to try feeding yourself, or do you want someone to help you?”

“I saw the Groke.” Snufkin said, blowing his nose again. Most of his fever dreams were a blur to him, but that one had stuck out the most. “It was just standing there, waiting…” he trailed off, suddenly realizing that he didn’t want to talk about the last part of the dream. The Groke, standing centimeters from him with her arms out, ready to freeze him. “It almost felt like...it wanted me to come with it.”

Brother Mymble’s mouth pressed into a hard line. 

“What?” asked Snufkin. “Did a groke come in here while I was asleep?”

“The groke is a very common fever hallucination.” Brother Mymble explained. “Most doctors say that the groke is simply your body longing for cooler temperatures. Emil agrees with that.”

“What do you think?” Snufkin ventured.

“I’ve been in...a similar position to you, a long time ago.” Brother Mymble tugged on his doctor coat. “It’s how I met Emil actually. I think...well, based on my experience anyway...I’m _really_ glad you’re awake.”

Snufkin shivered.

“Well, I can tell you that there haven’t been any grokes around here.” Seamstress Hemulen said brusquely. “Well, there were some pirates…”

“Pirates?” Snufkin asked, shocked. “On the Riber?”

“Yes, on the river.” Seamstress Hemulen scoffed. “Mostly ruffians that think just because they have a bathtub and a weapon, they’re allowed to take what they want. They’re spineless cowards for the most part, you have nothing to be frightened about.” 

“Ib not scared.” Snufkin tried to puff out his chest to illustrate his point, but he only succeeded in starting off another round of coughing. 

“Take it easy, we believe you.” Brother Mymble held up his paws in a placating gesture. 

Snufkin finished coughing with another whoop. “That felt...better than before.” he said, amazed. 

“Anyway, you should eat this up, the soup isn’t getting any warmer with us just prattling around.” Seamstress Hemulen practically dumped the soup onto Snufkin’s lap.

Snufkin gently took a sip. The soup had a slightly fishy aftertaste. It was delicious! “Thank you, Seabstress Hebulen.”

“You can just call me Seamstress dear.” Seamstress smiled kindly. “Anyway, Emil is out fishing. He hasn’t caught anything yet, but he’s gotten a few bites. Do you need anything else?”

“Well, I could use some lunch too.” Brother Mymble admitted. 

“I was talking to Snufkin, not you.” Seamstress scowled.

“Okay.” Brother Mymble held up his hands defensively. 

“I’m alright.” Snufkin said politely, trying to sit up some more. “Thank-” Snufkin burst into another round of coughs, ending with a whoop and the dancing stars. Well, maybe he wasn’t doing as well as he thought he was.

“He could use another bath.” Brother Mymble suggested. “Loosen up all that gunk.” 

“An excellent idea.” Seamstress agreed. “I’ll heat the bathwater while you finish that soup Snufkin. And Brother Mymble…I supposed I could get you something to eat. I think we have some of that brown stuff from last night.” 

“Eugh…” Brother Mymble cringed. “Do you think bread will make it better?” 

“Worth a shot.” Seamstress closed the door behind her.

“She seebs nice.” Snufkin finished off the soup. It hadn’t been a large serving, but after not eating properly for such a long time, it felt like a lot. 

“I think she has a soft spot for you.” Brother Mymble said.

“Oh?” Snufkin asked. 

“Her son was apparently a mumrik.” Brother Mymble explained. “She was waiting for him to come back from a trip when the flood came. So, she sewed up a sail and she’s trying to take the house back to where it used to rest, over by Hidden Valley. Which I believe is not that far from Deer Valley, so that’s good for us.” 

“Yes!” Snufkin grinned. Finally, something was going their way! 

“Anyway…” 

_Bang!_

Snufkin jumped. 

“Probably another wanna-be pirate.” Brother Mymble sighed and went to the window. “Yep, and Seamstress is already letting him have it.”

Snufkin could distantly hear the seamstress yelling. “Get outta here! Pick on someone your own size!” 

“Ope! She got him with square in the nose with a ball of thread. She didn’t break it, did she? No, she just got him good. Serves him right, the coward. Trying to shoot a hole in the side of the house.” Brother Mymble was enraptured by the scene outside. “And has Emil...oh, he hooked that guy’s boat with the fishing pole! Goodness, I didn’t know that old fillyjonk had it in him!”

Snufkin wanted to see some of the action too. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. He clutched the bed sheets and took deep, slow breaths, struggling to stay conscious. They were worn and tattered. As his vision cleared, he glanced around the room. The area he was in was clean, but Snufkin saw a thin layer of dust was on all of the bookshelves across from him. Dust bunnies gathered in the corner under the chair. _Odd,_ he thought. It was surprisingly dirty for a room in a hemulen’s house. And considering the usual fillyjonk tendencies towards obsessive cleaning, he was surprised that Emil had let it remain like this. 

“And he flipped it! Go Emil!” Brother Mymble cheered. “And the pirate’s paddling away. Woo!” he turned to look back at Snufkin. “By the bobble you’re pale. Are you alright?”

“Tried to stand.” Snufkin explained. 

“Please do not try that by yourself yet.” Brother Mymble rushed back to the bed. “You haven’t stood up on your own for weeks now, save the time you knocked on Seamstress’s door. Which I’m still amazed that you managed to do.”

“I did what I had to.” Snufkin shrugged. 

“I’m sorry I threw you on the porch.” Brother Mymble apologized. “I just thought that porch would be your best chance of getting out of this alive, and we both wanted you to make it out if we could. Plus, the Moomincratic Oath says to put the patient first...anyway.” Brother Mymble scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t consider how hurt you’d be. Or how guilty you would have felt if Emil and I had drifted away, never to be seen again…” he shivered. 

“You did what you had to do.” Snufkin consoled him. “But thangfully, things are gebbing bunch bebber now…. _achoo!_ ” 

“Bless you.” 

“Thank you.” Snufkin sniffed. “By the way, whose room is this?” He wasn’t quite ready to think about their time on the rowboat. 

“Seamstress’s son, I’d assume.” Brother Mymble frowned. “Emil wanted to completely fumigate the place, but Seamstress was very picky about where he cleaned and what he touched. It didn’t really sit well with him.”

“I see.” _How odd_. Snufkin couldn’t help but notice the empty ashtray, the guitar with faded strings, the discarded papers peering out from the closet. “I don’t think her son has been back for a long time.”

“I agree with you, but I don’t know for sure. It’s kind of a sore spot for her.” Brother Mymble wrung his hands. “All she really says about the matter is that her house has to go back to Hidden Valley so her son can find her again because he promised to see her after his winter travels were over.”

Snufkin felt a pit in his stomach. He wondered what everyone was doing back in Moominvalley. Had they started to worry about him? Were they searching for him even now, or were things back to the usual routine? He guessed the latter. They wouldn’t still be searching for him after...well, after however long it had been. 

Had Moomin given up on him?

Snufkin was torn, part of him would understand if he had at this point, the other part was terrified that he had done so a long, long time ago. But when he did show up, would Moomin be mad? Snufkin had promised to show up on the first day of spring, and they were well past that now…

Brother Mymble didn’t seem to notice Snufkin’s anguished thoughts. “I’m going to see if Seamstress needs any help carrying the bath water. Would you be willing to sit here for just a few more minutes?”

Snufkin made a vague noise of approval. 

“Alrighty then!” Brother Mymble left the room.

Snufkin pulled up his covers, thoughts swirling. His bed had once belonged to another mumrik like him, one who left every winter and came back every spring. But this mumrik had broken his promise, and his mother was still waiting for him to come back.

Did the Moomins feel just as miserable as Seamstress Hemulen? Or were Snufkin’s fears true, and they had already forgotten him?

And which one of those options did he want to be true? Did he want the Moomins to be tormented by his absence? Or did he want for them to forget, therefore losing the closest thing he had ever had to a family?

Snufkin stared at the ceiling, struggling to push the thoughts away. 

XXXXXX

Moomin sighed as yet another rock plopped into the water. 

“You almost had it that time!” Snork reassured him. 

“It’s useless.” Moomin sat back down on the bridge with a _thump_. “I’ll never be able to skip a rock.”

“Well,” Snork tentatively suggested, “there might be smoother rocks down on the beach.”

Moomin shook his head.

“Alright.” Snork plopped down next to him. 

Moomin stared at the river. He could see the fish swimming below. He wondered if the fishing was good where Snufkin was. Why wasn’t he back yet? And why had Mamma and Pappa chosen _now_ to go on a trip? He knew that they wanted to help people affected by the flood, but why hadn’t they at least taken him with?

“So…” Snork adjusted his glasses, “I think Snorkmaiden and the others are playing tag. If you wanted to, we could go over there.”

“I’m alright.” Moomin said.

“Moomin…” Snork bit his lip. 

Moomin crossed his arms and frowned. 

“Never mind.” Snork slumped. 

Moomin felt guilty. All Snork was trying to do was to take his mind off of things.

“How about we fish?” Moomin suggested. 

“You know how to fish?” Snork immediately brightened. “I have a new pole design that I was going to have Sn...well, that I wanted someone to test out. I could get it now, if you wanted.”

“Sure!” Moomin gave the most convincing smile that he could muster. Snork scurried off, cheered at the prospect of some field science. Moomin watched him go. He knew that Snork had intended for Snufkin to test out that fishing rod. Moomin turned his gaze back to the path leading into Moominvalley. Where was his best friend? He had never broken a promise before. And his letter had promised the same thing, that he would be back the first day of spring, guaranteed. 

Unless he had left a second letter.

Moomin raced back to Moominhouse. It was highly unlikely, but maybe Snufkin had left him a second letter! It was the only explanation. Why else would Snufkin just disappear without telling him? He probably thought that Moomin already knew that his plans had changed! 

Moomin’s paw stopped over the doorknob. Wouldn't Mamma have found a letter like that already? Or wouldn’t the postman would’ve delivered him such a letter by now? And why would Snufkin hide a letter with such important information?

He brushed those thoughts aside. This was the only explanation. Any other answer would hurt too much. Moomin started from the bottom of the house and worked his way up. He searched under the kitchen table and chairs. He rifled through the cabinets. He peered up the laundry chute. He tossed the sheets off of Moominmamma and Moominpappa’s bed. He even looked in the bathroom.

Finally, when Moomin had finished searching the back of his closet, he had to admit defeat. All he had managed to do was create one huge mess. At least Mamma and Pappa weren’t around to scold him. With a sigh, he slowly started to put his things back in the closet. Snork would probably be looking for him now anyway. 

The door slammed. _That was probably Snork,_ Moomin thought. Snork was not going to be happy about this, especially since he was supposed to be the one watching Moomin. Resigned, Moomin slowly made his way back downstairs. 

“Goodness! It’s quite a mess in here!” Moominpappa exclaimed. 

“I’m sure this mess is from a game of some sort.” Moominmamma didn’t seem mad at all. “Hopefully that means that Moomin is playing with his friends again!”

“Mamma! Pappa!” Moomin raced down the stairs. “How was your trip-” He froze.

There were three bags sitting on the kitchen table. One was Moominmamma’s. The other was Moominpappa’s. And the third…

It was Snufkin’s. 

“Is Snufkin here?” Moomin asked excitedly, glancing around the room. 

“Moomin…” Moominpappa started to say something, but then he stopped.

“Why didn’t he play his spring tune?” Moomin asked. 

“Moomin…” Moominpappa swallowed nervously. 

“He always plays his spring tune when he comes back. Always.” Moomin felt his tail quiver. Something wasn’t right.

“Moomin…” Moominmamma’s eyes were welling with tears. “Snufkin is gone.”

“Gone?” Moomin echoed numbly.

“He was traveling during the flood.” Moominmamma said softly. “He was right under the Dam underpass when it broke. We’ve talked to some people, and he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Moomin squeaked.

“I’m sorry son.” Moominpappa bowed his head. 

Tears were flowing down Moominmamma’s face as she opened her arms up for a hug.

“Dead?” Moomin repeated, slowly backing up. “No, that can’t be right. If Snufkin was dead…” he trailed off. Horrified, Moomin remembered Snufkin’s last words to him.

_I’ll be there on the first day! I promise! No matter what!_

_No matter what…_

Snufkin had every intention of fulfilling that promise. 

And Snufkin had died fulfilling that promise.

“It’s my fault.” Moomin whispered, shaking. 

“It’s not your fault!” Moominmamma reassured him. “It was just a terrible accident!”

“If I hadn’t made him promise, he wouldn't have been on the road that night!” Moomin countered back. His vision was blurry with tears. “I should’ve...I..I…” Moomin turned around and ran towards his room, heart aching.

_My fault, my fault, my fault…._

He leapt onto his bed, buried his face into his pillow, and sobbed. 

XXXX

After two weeks traveling, Moominmamma and Moominpappa had come to the conclusion that there was no good way to tell their son that his best friend was gone. 

But this was not the way that they’d wanted him to find out. 

Moominpappa stopped Moominmamma from following her son. “I need to talk to him.” 

“Are you sure dear?” Moominmamma asked. “I know you were worried about breaking the news to him…”

“This is different.” Moominpappa explained. “I’m going to tell him about the night before Joxter, Fuzzy, and Muddler...left.”

“If you think it will help dear.” Moominmamma nodded. She looked around the kitchen. “I’ll see if I can make Moomin’s favorite for dinner tonight.”

“That is an excellent idea my dear,” Moominpappa kissed her on the nose, “I would be lost without you.” Steeling himself, he walked up the stairs. 

Even before he reached Moomin’s room, he could hear his sobbing. Moominpappa reminded himself that Moomin had just heard the news five minutes ago, while he had had two weeks to process Snufkin’s death. Moomin would be in a different frame of mind than him. 

“Moomin?” Moominpappa gently knocked on the door. “It’s Pappa.”

“Go away.” Moomin sniffed.

Taking a leaf from his friend Joxter’s book, Moominpappa opened the door. He deftly navigated his way around the mess of toys and clothes, seating himself on the edge of Moomin’s bed. 

Moomin didn’t say anything. 

“It’s not your fault Moomin.” Moominpappa said.

“He wouldn’t have been on the road if it wasn’t for me!” Moomin insisted. “Because I asked him...no I _begged_ him to be back on the first day of spring!”

“Moomin…”

“And Snufkin was right! I’d be hibernating most of the time! I wouldn’t even miss him for that long, even though I do! And now I have to miss him forever...” Moomin started to bawl.

Moominpappa wiped a few tears from his eyes. He put a paw on Moomin’s shoulder. “I understand.”

“No you don’t!” Moomin snapped. 

Moominpappa drew his hand back. It startled him to hear Moomin so angry, but he knew it was the grief talking. 

“I’m sorry Pappa.” Moomin apologized. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s alright son.” Moominpappa reassured him. 

For awhile, Moominpappa just sat there, patting Moomin’s back while he cried. Eventually, Moomin’s sobs petered out. He was simply too exhausted to cry. Thinking he was asleep, Moominpappa got up to leave.

“Could you stay awhile?” Moomin asked.

“For as long as you’d like.” Moominpappa sat back down. 

The two sat in silence for a while. Finally, Moominpappa decided to tell his story.

“You remember my friends on the Oshun Oxtra, right?” Moominpappa asked.

“Joxter, Hodgkins, and Muddler, right?”

“Yes.” Moominpappa swallowed nervously, searching for the right words to begin. 

“A long time ago, back before we moved to this valley, Joxter came over to our house. As it turns out, Joxter was about to have a son. It was his idea to go on one last adventure. I declined because Moominmamma wasn’t feeling that well. Funnily enough, her illness was the first sign of her pregnancy with you. Joxter still went, and he convinced Muddler and Fuzzy to leave Sniff with Hodgkins. The three of them left, and they were never seen again.”

“Where did they go?” Moomin asked. 

“I...I don’t know.” Moominpappa rubbed his eyes. “They never told anyone. Sometimes I think that if I had gone with them, I could’ve saved them somehow, but there’s no way to know for certain. And...I’ve had to make peace with that.” he sniffed.

“It’s not your fault Pappa.” Moomin sat up and squeezed his paw. “There was no way you could’ve known.”

“Snufkin’s death is not your fault either.” Moominpappa squeezed back. “He made his own decision. He thought he could make it to the next town, and he took a risk. It just...didn’t work in his favor.” 

“I still feel bad though.” Moomin confessed, swiping at his eyes. “I just...I just want Snufkin back.”

“Me too.” Moominpappa’s lip quivered. “But he’s gone. And the only thing we can do is grieve.”

And so the two moomins grieved, as the scent of Moominmamma’s cooking slowly filled the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Moomin riffling through the house looking for a letter is a callback to Moominvalley in November where Snufkin does the same thing (although in a different context). I still haven't finished that book yet.  
> -In The Moomins and the Great Flood, I think the Moominhouse moved. (Not too sure, I haven't read the book yet). But that's what I'm going with.


	8. About Cabin Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did add the grief/mourning tag. Although if you've made it this far (thank you), you probably don't need that tag anymore. Figured that tag wouldn't give away the plot.

Snork was the first person outside of the Moominfamily to hear the news about Snufkin’s death. Noticing that Moomin was missing from his usual place on the bridge, Snork had run inside Moominhouse in a panic. He’d found Moominmamma cooking in the kitchen, tears in her eyes.

“Moominmamma?” Snork frowned. “Is everything alright?”

Surprisingly, Moominmamma shook her head.

“Please tell me what’s going on!” Snork begged. “I’d like to help if I can.” He hated seeing Moominmamma so despondent. 

“It’s Snufkin.” Moominmamma blew her nose. 

“Snufkin…?” Snork felt his paws go dry. It couldn’t be.

“He’s dead.”

“Dead…?” Snork collapsed into a dining room chair, shocked. “How? Why?”

Moominmamma gave him a plate of crackers and told him everything she knew. 

“But-but _why_?” Snork’s voice broke. He knew that there was no logical answer, no matter how much he wanted one. 

“I don’t know.” Moominmamma gently squeezed his shoulder.

“I should tell Snorkmaiden.” Snork said after a while. He took off his glasses and wiped his face. “Moominmamma, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“If I need anything?” Moominmamma blinked. “No...I don’t think so. But do let Snorkmaiden know that if she wants to talk about it, she’s more than welcome to come over. The same goes for anyone else that wants to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Snork waved. “Goodbye Moominmamma.”

“Thank you for taking care of Moomin!”

“Anytime.” Snork closed the door behind him. Moominmamma watched as he walked away. She supposed that it would now be a matter of time before the entire valley found out. She could see a lot of people coming to her door in the following days, and she wasn’t sure what to tell them to ease the pain.

She barely knew what to tell herself. 

The oven buzzed, startling her. Quick as a flash, she prepared a tray of Moomin’s favorite foods and climbed the stairs towards his bedroom. She pushed her worries aside. First and foremost, her son needed a nice, warm meal. That at least, she could help with. 

* * *

Snufkin absently played with the rubber duck in his bathtub, oblivious to the havoc his apparent death was causing Moominvalley. Baths were the best thing he had to look forward too. They loosened up the crud, gave him some peace and quiet, and were a nice break from the monotony of lying in bed. Otherwise, he hadn’t really left his bed since arriving at Seamstress’s house. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. Once, he decided to sneak out of his bed and walk around on his own, but he had ended up sinking to his knees right in front of the closet. He tried to rise again, but he had used all his energy trying to get this far. He realized pretty quickly that he wasn’t going to be going anywhere fast on his own. Lying uncomfortably on the floor, he hoped that Brother Mymble was the one checking in on him this time, and not Emil. 

He had eyed the large stack of papers in the back of the closet. Normally, such behavior would be considered snooping, but if the hemulen’s son was anything like most mumriks Snufkin knew, he would be happy that his stuff would be useful to someone else. He skimmed through the stack. 

_Curse the, wicked Mefistoflolies!_

_Now, fair hippo our marriage is coming, more moon!_

_Poor Yorick! I knew him!_

_Two households, both alike in dignity/in fair Verona/ancient grudge mutiny/blood makes hands unclean._

It wasn’t until Snufkin saw _Sonnet?_ scrawled on the top right corner of the last page that it dawned on him. These were all notes from plays. He hadn’t heard of most of them, but the last one almost sounded like it was from Romeo and Juliet, a play Snufkin had snuck into a long time ago. Was the hemulen’s son a fan of plays?

Snufkin hadn’t talked to Seamstress Hemulen very much since being thrown onto her porch. She seemed very keen on avoiding him. Part of him understood. Snufkin probably reminded Seamstress of her son. Snufkin calling her Moominmamma during his fever probably didn’t help things much. Snufkin wished that she wasn’t so distant though. It would be nice to talk to someone who wasn’t also a doctor.

“Snufkin! What are you doing out of bed?” Emil demanded.

“Hello.” Snufkin waved from the floor. Well, he was in for it.

“You need to be in bed resting!” Emil scolded him. Quicker than thought, he scooped up Snufkin and forcefully tucked him in. “I know you’re feeling better, but trust me, you’re not ready to be wandering around on your own yet. You could hurt yourself!”

Snufkin scowled. He knew Emil was right, but he wasn't ready to admit that. 

“How are you doing in there?” Brother Mymble asked through the door.

“Fine!” Snufkin yelled back. Brother Mymble standing outside of the door was a compromise; Snufkin had started to find both doctor’s constant surveillance stifling. It didn’t help that they were treating him like a child either. The rubber duck that Brother Mymble had thrown in at the last second was a prime example. Snufkin had never owned a toy in his life, let alone bathed with one (his harmonica didn’t count of course because it was an instrument).Granted, Snufkin knew that the two of them had the best of intentions, but after being stuck in a small rowboat for about a month, he just wanted at least a day to himself. Nobody should have to be cramped that closely together. 

“After I’m done with my bath, can I go outside?” Snufkin begged. He hadn’t been outside since knocking on Seamstress’s door.

“Well, do you remember last time?” Brother Mymble reminded him gently.

Snufkin sighed, angrily squeezing the rubber duck. A while back, Brother Mymble had snuck him outside. Unfortunately, Snufkin had launched into a coughing fit so severe that he had to be taken right back in and immediately tucked into bed.

“Didn’t you mention at dinner that the weather had gotten better recently?” Snufkin pressed.

“I suppose I did…” Brother Mymble sighed. “I’ll ask Emil and see what he thinks.”

“Thank you.” _Emil’s going to say no,_ Snufkin thought. If he were back at Moominhouse, he knew Moominmamma would have let him go outside. It was like Emil and Brother Mymble simply forgot how many years Snufkin had spent taking care of himself on his travels. 

“Emil will come around if I tell him you’re getting restless again.” Brother Mymble said, almost as if he could read Snufkin’s thoughts. “Just trust me, alright?”

“Alright.” Snufkin reluctantly agreed. He listened as Brother Mymble’s footsteps faded away. Snufkin carefully got out of the tub. The water had gone cold and his paws were shriveled prunes anyway. He technically wasn’t supposed to be walking without someone nearby, but he was only going a short distance. He grabbed two towels: one to throw on the floor and one to wrap around himself. He shakily made his way to the windowsill, grasping it tightly. The woods outside were beautiful. Of course, Brother Mymble and Emil had both made a point of taking Snufkin to all the available windows in the house, but there was nothing like the joy of seeing nature’s beauty on one’s own. He cracked open the window and took a deep breath. The smell of pine filled his nostrils.

_Ah, this is perfect._ Snufkin sighed happily. 

He peered into the distance. He still couldn’t see the Lonely Mountains. They were one of the defining features of Moominvalley and visible from miles away if one was high enough. He sighed. Allegedly, Brother Mymble had figured out a way to add more sail power to Seamstress’s house, and maybe they were doing some good, Snufkin couldn’t really tell since he spent so much of his time sleeping. Still, the house wasn’t going fast enough for Snufkin. Every day that passed meant another day that Moomin could forget him.

“I’m coming in!” Brother Mymble knocked on the door and gently pushed it open. “Snufkin, we’ve talked about this. You’re not well enough to be walking around without an adult nearby.”

Snufkin scowled. 

“You really want to go outside.” Brother Mymble remarked.

Snufkin nodded.

“Well, Emil agreed with me. It’s probably okay, but…”

“Really?” Snufkin felt his heart soar. 

“We can’t be out there for too long.” Brother Mymble stressed. “But Emil did say it was okay. Here’s your clothes, put ‘em on and I’ll take you outside.”

“You bet!” Snufkin was grinning ear to ear. 

* * *

“Do I have to wear this?” Snufkin asked. Brother Mymble had swaddled him in one of Seamstress’s patchwork quilts. Snufkin could barely feel his legs. 

“Yes.” Brother Mymble answered. “Emil says that the more layers you have on the better off you’ll be. And if you could wrap your scarf over your face…”

Snufkin wrenched his arms out of his cocoon and did as he was told. 

“There we go. Ally-op!” Brother Mymble scooped Snufkin up and made his way outside.

Snufkin did start coughing on reflex, but he quickly managed to quell it. The first thing that he was aware of was just how bright it was outside. He squeezed his eyes shut. The breeze tousled a few strands of his still-drying hair. He furiously patted it down. Snufkin wasn’t used to not wearing a hat outside. It still felt strange. He took a deep breath. The smell of pine was still there, mixing with the scent of the water. He opened his eyes. A bird flew by, happily chirping to itself. 

“I told you he’d like this Emil.” Brother Mymble gently sat Snufkin in a rocking chair. 

“I never said he wouldn’t like it.” Emil was trying to untangle a fishing line. “I just said that he wouldn’t like how he felt afterwards.”

“I feel fine.” Snufkin said.

“See?” Brother Mymble threw his hands out, as if to say: _I told you so!_

“How’s the fishing?” Snufkin asked.

“It’s a good thing Seamstress Hemulen canned so many vegetables last fall. I haven’t caught anything yet and now the line has a knot in it.” Emil gave it a few firm tugs. “Stupid. Thing. Won’t. Ugh!” He threw it aside in frustration. 

“Let me try.” Seamstress suggested. “I’ve had a lot of experience with string, you know.”

“No, I’m perfectly capable of doing something this basic on my own.” Emil started to attack the string with his teeth.

“First of all, don’t do that.” Seamstress told him. “You’re going to break it.”

“It’s perfectly fine.” Emil insisted.

“Well, seeing as I’m the one who’s experienced in string…”

“Well, seeing as I’m the one who uses thread every day to stitch people up…”

“You don't think I can handle something as basic as undoing a knot?” Seamstress narrowed her eyes.

“What? No, no, no, no.” Emil held up his hands defensively. 

“Could I try?” Snufkin volunteered. He had to get them to stop arguing. 

“I suppose.” Emil handed the line over to him. 

“Why are you letting Snufkin try instead of me?” Seamstress challenged.

“I’m letting him try because he’s a fisherman.” Emil informed her. 

"Hm!" Seamstress tutted. 

“I do like fishing.” Snufkin shook the line. The tangle was out in less than a minute. “You had a good start Emil. You just pulled when you should’ve pushed.”

“Thank you.” Emil cast the line back into the water.

“You forgot the hook.” Seamstress smirked.

“Thank you Seamstress.” Emil sighed as he reeled the line back in.

“Do you have another fishing pole?” Snufkin really wanted to go fishing. 

“I think that pole was the only one my son left, unfortunately.” Seamstress apologized. “Say, you’re a traveling mumrik too, right?”

“Yes.” Snufkin nodded.

“Snufkin…” Seamstress drummed her knuckles on the verandah banister for a long time. “My son’s name is Patch.” she looked at him hopefully. “Is there any chance that you would’ve crossed paths?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met him.” Snufkin apologized. “I’m sorry.” Patch was a very non-traditional name for a mumrik. Snufkin would’ve definitely remembered running into someone with that name.

“Years ago, his father dropped him off at the door. He had a tuft of blond hair, and light blue eyes…it was love at first sight.” Seamstress gazed off into the distance. “He and I got into a lot of fights during his childhood. I wanted him in by 6:30, he wanted to go to the next town over to see the fireflies over the lake. I wanted him to study a trade and get a decent job, he wanted to travel all over the place. But we loved each other. When he was old enough to leave home, he’d write me letters during the winter. When the spring came, I would read the letters of his exploits while I waited for his return.”

Snufkin felt a twinge of guilt. He had never done anything like that for Moomin, aside from his yearly winter letter. 

“One year, he told me he was going to see a play up north. He said that the letters would be scarce that year, because all the postmen would be hibernating. We’d had a bad fight…” Seamstress stopped talking.

Brother Mymble walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you.” Seamstress sniffed. “I woke up that spring, and there were no letters. I waited and waited…I’m not sure if something happened, or if it’s my fault...” She pulled a handkerchief from her apron and blew her nose. “I haven’t gotten a letter from him in three years. And now that my house and mailbox are washed away, I’m worried that I never will.” She smoothed out her apron. “But I’m sure we’ll get my house back to the Hidden Valley, come hell or high water. And who knows? Maybe he’ll be waiting.”

Snufkin was so affected by Seamstress’s story, that he barely even registered the swear word. He couldn’t imagine waiting for someone that long, not knowing whether they were alive or dead.

And Snufkin had gone and inflicted that pain on Moomin. Over and over again. To be honest, after seeing the look on Seamstress Hemulen’s face, he was surprised that any of the Moomin family wanted to be his friend at all. Why be friends with some vagabond who could die and never come back?

Snufkin wasn’t sure why that was bugging him so much now; danger was always a part of traveling. Maybe having two close brushes with death had changed his perspective more than he had realized. It had never dawned on him that his friendship could perhaps be hurting Moomin more than it was helping him. 

Would Moomin even still want to see him when he came back?

_Thud!_ Everyone jumped as something scraped against the house. 

“Looks like we’ve gotten something off our starboard.” Brother Mymble remarked, looking around for a weapon.

“Which side of the house is that again?” Emil whispered loudly, defensively grasping his fishing pole.

“Right, I think.” Snufkin answered tersely. He knew they’d been having problems with attempted pirating. Was he about to see it up close?

“Hullo!” A hemulen with a fisherman’s cap peered around the corner. “I seem to have gotten my hull stuck on your siding. I do apologize.”

“You should’ve been more careful!” Emil scolded the poor sailing hemulen. “You about gave us a heart-attack!”

“Oh, you thought I was a pirate?” the hemulen chortled. “Oh no, I’m just a traveler. The river flooded, and I saw an opportunity to see some new sights. I’ve got my own supplies and everything. I did see a pirate ship a few days ago though. Huge, nasty thing. They ignored me though. They must’ve thought I was too small of a vessel to be worth their trouble.”

“Did you happen to see them run their colors?” Brother Mymble asked. 

“They were incredibly smelly, even from a distance.” the hemulen scoffed. “I don’t think they’ve ever done laundry in their life!”

“How uncouth!” Emil declared fervently. 

“Did you happen to see then _run their flag up_?” Brother Mymble rephrased his question. 

“Oh yeah, they were flying their flag.” the hemulen nodded. “It was navy blue, and it had a black star in the corner.” 

Brother Mymble’s knees started to shake. He gripped the banister as if he needed it to stay upright. 

“Are you alright?” Seamstress asked him.

“Yeah. Yes. Yup.” Brother Mymble looked incredibly pale. 

“Anyway, they were heading this way. I only passed them because they just docked somewhere probably to do some pillaging, like pirates do.” the hemulen informed them. “Anyway, it’s a shame we’re not going in the same direction. But I can spare a few supplies if you need them. I’d be willing to barter too. I know the flood’s been hard on folks in this area.”

“Maybe we should go the other direction.” Brother Mymble suggested. “Team up, you know?”

“But we need to go this way.” Snufkin was confused. “Don’t we all have good reasons to go this way?”

“Have you ever met a pirate before? They’re scary, and not a threat to be taken lightly. Especially these pirates! They…” Brother Mymble trailed off. His cheeks suddenly took on a green hue as he went inside.

“What’s up with him?” the hemulen asked.

“A long time ago…” Emil shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not your business. I should go talk to him. Here Snufkin.” Emil handed him his fishing pole. “Seamstress, you can barter for whatever you want. It’s technically all your food.”

“Sounds good to me.” Seamstress said. “Now, what do you have?”

Snufkin knew two things. One, the reason Emil wasn’t catching any fish was because he didn’t have any weight on his line, just the hook. Two, Brother Mymble and Emil were probably in there discussing the pirate situation, and they probably weren’t going to share anything with him. Heck, back when they were in the boat, they’d barely shared any information about his illness with him. It was probably “too scary” for a child to worry about.

Snufkin was sick of being treated like a little kid.

Snufkin reeled in the fishing line and gently set it next to his rocking chair. He carefully undid Brother Mymble’s swaddling, making sure to keep an eye on the two hemulens haggling. As quietly as possible, he slipped off the rocking chair and made his way to the door, gripping the window frame. He grasped the door knob.

If nobody was going to tell him things, then he was going to find things out for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -If you recognized all four of those Shakespeare quotes from the notes Snufkin found in the closet, you're wrong because only three of them were from Shakespeare plays. The first one is from Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe. The second quote is from A Midnight Summer's Dream, the third one is from Hamlet, and the fourth one is from Romeo and Juliet. They're also horribly butchered. Why? ;)  
> -So I don't think there's a real life flag that's navy blue with a black start in the corner. If so...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that your country/city/sports organization are a bunch of pirates.


	9. About Pirates and Pirating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! Here's the next chapter. I hope you're all safe and sound in your homes. :)

“I’m just saying—” Emil began.

Brother Mymble cut him off. “I know Emil, but—” 

“No, I think you should listen to me.” Emil insisted.

Snufkin pressed his ear closer to the door crack, frustrated that he had missed a bunch of the conversation trying to stealthily make his way across the room. Regardless, he was determined to find something out. Even a small bit of information would do. 

“With all due respect you weren’t there.” Brother Mymble pointed out.

“I know. I know I wasn’t.” Emil admitted. “But I know what happened. And—”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d be totally for staying on course!” Brother Mymble declared. “But we can’t win! We need to retreat, to live another day, and hopefully find somewhere to hide ourselves.”

 _Retreat?_ Snufkin made a face. Everything he loved was in the direction they were going in. He would face whatever he had to to get back. Even though his knees were shaking from the strain of trying to stand, he pressed his ear closer to the door.

“Didn’t you just say that their sails were probably going to be bigger and that they would be more maneuverable?” Emil asked. 

“Yes, but—”

“Then they’re going to catch us eventually.” Emil said. “Turning around might buy us some time, but in reality, it’s only delaying the inevitable.”

 _Good point_ , Snufkin nodded.

“But we’ll have more time to plan, time to organize a counter attack!” Brother Mymble pointed out.

“What happens if the water level drops while we’re in the middle of nowhere?” Emil countered. “Between doubling-back and turning around, it could add several months to our journey, and not to mention that our food supply might not last, especially if we have to hibernate over the winter. Unless you’re suggesting that we wait it out in the south and then travel back next year. Which would be alright for Snufkin, but the rest of us kind of need to hibernate…”

“W-well there’s been cases of hibernating animals staying awake during the wintertime.” Brother Mymble argued half-heartedly.

“I suppose that’s true,” Emil conceded, “but you know as well as I do that skipping hibernation is not good for one’s health.”

“Well….” Brother Mymble trailed off. “Still…”

"Your fears are justified, but it'll be alright. We'll face him together." Emil reassured Brother Mymble.

"I know we will!" Brother Mymble exclaimed. "It's just that...well..."

“Do you want to wait that long to see your siblings again?” Emil asked. 

“That’s not a fair question!” Brother Mymble protested. “This is not about my siblings! If I could, I’d sail straight on past Blackstar and his stupid crew! But we can’t afford to!”

“Why not?” Emil pressed. 

“Because Snufkin!” Brother Mymble yelled. “I don’t want Blackstar to get Snufkin!”

 _Because of me?_ Snufkin just barely managed to stifle a gasp of shock. 

“I...I can’t…” Brother Mymble’s voice shook. “Not any of you, of course, but…”

Snufkin pressed his ear to the door so hard that he could feel his neck start to get sore. Other than a whispering sound from Emil, he heard nothing more. He racked his brain, maybe he had heard of this Blackstar before, but nothing came to mind. 

“What are you doing?” Seamstress asked. 

“Gah!” Snufkin yelled. He was so startled that he felt that he needed to sit down. He had been so focused on the threat of discovery from inside the room that he had completely forgotten about Seamstress. 

The door swung open. “Snufkin.” Emil greeted him. 

“Hello.” Snufkin waved, hoping that his face wasn’t turning as red as it felt. 

“How much did you hear?” Emil asked.

“I heard about Blackstar.” Snufkin decided that it would be best to come clean. “I heard that you’re debating turning around. But we can’t. I agree with Emil.”

“Snufkin…” Brother Mymble said.

“I don’t care how scary this Blackstar might be. I want to go home.” As soon as the words left Snufkin’s mouth, he knew they were true. Sure, technically he was a vagabond and his house was his tent. But Moominvalley was the closest thing he had to a home. A house and a home meant two completely different things. “I—” Snufkin’s voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “I have people that I want to see, and places where I want to go, and food that I want to eat. I just want to go home.”

“I want to go home too.” Brother Mymble admitted. He swiped at his face with his sleeve.

“I’m all for facing this Blackstar guy!” Seamstress Hemulen mimed punching Blackstar’s face by smacking her fist into her open paw.

“If you all want to, I suppose I should probably tell you how I met Blackstar.” Brother Mymble sighed. “Let’s discuss this in the kitchen.”

* * *

Seamstress poured everyone a pot of coffee. Snufkin was happy. The last cup of coffee that he’d drank was back at the inn the night the dam broke. Thanking Seamstress, he took a few sips. Instantly, his entire body felt a sense of calm. The warmth of the coffee seemed to penetrate even his chest, easing the ache for a while. 

“No sugar in your coffee?” Emil teased. 

“I don’t usually have sugar on me while I’m traveling.” Snufkin explained. “Besides, it’s easier to share coffee when it has no toppings in it.”

“Seems like sound reasoning to me.” Seamstress nodded approvingly. “Patch always used to complain about other travelers' coffee. He said I was the best coffee maker that he knew, and that any other travelers’ coffee was water in comparison.”

“Coffee always tastes the best when it comes from one’s own pot.” Snufkin took another sip. “Although, yours is excellent.”

“Good to know that my son wasn’t just buttering me up.” Seamstress said gruffly. Snufkin caught the ghost of a smile as she turned around to make more. 

Brother Mymble dumped a pile of sugar into his coffee, idly stirring it with a spoon. He didn’t seem interested in his cup.

“Brother Mymble?” Snufkin asked.

“I suppose...yeah.” Brother Mymble cleared his throat. “My parents were fishermen. Some of my earliest memories was of them taking me and my nine siblings out to the center of dam lake and letting us swim around. Every once in a while, they would leave town on their boat and go on a fishing excursion. Occasionally, they’d take my sister Mymble along.” Here, Brother Mymble paused to take a sip from his cup. “The eldest Mymble is always named Mymble, you know. It’s a Mymble tradition.”

“That’s interesting.” Snufkin said politely, even though he had already known that.

“Anyway. I could remember talking with my twin sister, Sister Mymble, about the day when Mom and Dad would finally take us out on the boat with them. We were the next two oldest after all.” Brother Mymble smiled faintly. 

Snufkin frowned in confusion. Brother Mymble frequently talked about his family, but he had never mentioned a twin before.

“One day, we got our chance! It was an absolutely beautiful day. Mymble, Sister Mymble, and I hoped in the boat and sailed out. And for a while, things were perfect.” Brother Mymble stopped for a while, stirring his coffee even though the sugar had long since been dissolved. 

“And then the pirates?” Seamstress guessed.

“And then the pirates.” Brother Mymble confirmed, gripping his cup with both paws. “I was asleep when they came, but Sister Mymble and I woke up when they started shooting their cannons. Mymble wasn’t in the room with us, and we were worried about our parents, so my twin and I decided to go looking for everyone. She went left and I went right…” Brother Mymble bowed his head. Snufkin could see his coffee cup shaking in his paws.

“Do you want me to finish?” Emil asked gently. 

Brother Mymble nodded.

“Brother Mymble doesn’t really remember what happened next, but a couple of fishermen found Brother Mymble adrift on a thing of flotsam and brought him to my office. As soon as Brother Mymble explained what had happened, I notified the authorities.” Emil swallowed. “They found the wreckage of the ship easily enough, although the pirates escaped.”

“Based on what I told them, the authorities concluded that it was piracy.” Brother Mymble snorted. “I mean, there was a cannon involved, I’m not sure what other conclusion they would’ve come to. I vaguely remembered the flag, but it wasn’t until recently that I received definitive proof that it was Blackstar.”

“Definitive proof?” Snufkin squeaked. 

“One of his old crew members.” A dark shadow passed Brother Mymble’s face. Snufkin shivered. He had never seen such a look before. Had Brother Mymble…?

“I turned him over to the authorities and he’s in jail, like he should be.” Brother Mymble gently reassured Snufkin. “But that’s not the point. Blackstar...he killed my parents and my older sisters. If he’s capable of that, there’s not really a limit to what he will do.”

Snufkin felt his mouth go dry. He had not thought through the implications of Brother Mymble being the third oldest and the head of the family. He had just thought that Brother Mymble’s older sisters and parents had just gone traveling when Brother Mymble was old enough, not that they had died. 

Brother Mymble cleared his throat. “Anyway, now that you all know that, I suppose the only thing to do is decide whether or not we should go forward or turn back.” 

“I think we should go forward.” Snufkin answered confidently.

“Snufkin…”

“No.” Snufkin cut Brother Mymble off. “We’ve been through insurmountable odds just to get this far. I want to keep going. I-I know you’re worried about me, but I’ll be fine. I’ve seen a lot in my travels and I’m not a helpless kid.”

“I never said you were helpless, I’m just…” Brother Mymble hesitated, “...it feels like violating the Moomincratic Oath.”

“As you know, I want to stay on course as well.” Emil continued on. “Just because we’re not going to run into the bear for a few extra days if we run doesn’t mean that it’s not out there.”

“Well…” Seamstress hesitated. “I think I’m with Emil. I’m a bit worried about how the house will look afterwards, but I think we need to face the bear while we’re still able, instead of when we’re exhausted or worst of all, out of food.”

“Alright.” Brother Mymble sunk into his chair. “Alright. I guess the next question is, how do we fight the pirates?”

“I know this is a long shot Snufkin, but have you met any?” Emil asked.

“I—” Snufkin burst into another coughing fit, which was convenient because he wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He had dealt with a pirate exactly once, but it had only been one pirate and he was easily dispatched with some sedative-laced juice. “Once on land, never on the sea.” Snufkin said. “And to be frank, during the time I faced them on land, I had the help of a bunch of inspectors and my dear friend Moomin.”

“I don’t recall Patch telling me about any pirates either.” Seamstress frowned, “but then again, he always had a habit of hiding the scariest parts of his travels from me.” She scoffed. “Like I could’ve stopped him from going out even if I wanted to.”

“Say Snufkin,” Emil asked thoughtfully, “you were looking at some papers from Patch the other day, right?”

“They were in my field of vision, yes.” Snufkin felt the back of his neck prickle. Was Seamstress Hemulen glaring at him?

“Seamstress, if you’re okay with it, I think we should examine those papers that your son left. Patch might have written about an encounter with pirates.” Emil pointed out.

“I don’t think that’s the case.” Seamstress said sadly. “Most of the notes that my son took, to be completely frank, were attempts to pirate plays.”

“Pirate plays?” Snufkin exclaimed.

“Not like a sea pirate.” Seamstress clarified. “He would sneak into plays, write down as many notes as possible, and then recreate the script on his own and sell it for money. That sort of pirating. He thought that plays should be more accessible to the public, instead of being for rich people or royalty.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Emil asked.

“Oh yeah.” Seamstress nodded. “It’s better than the stuff his friends were doing though. One of them burned down a cornfield just because he could.”

Snufkin couldn’t help but wonder what Moominpappa, being an author himself, would’ve thought of Patch’s enterprises. He probably wouldn't have been too found of them. Snufkin however thought that wasn't an entirely bad idea, although charging for the copies of the play seemed tacky to him.

“That being said, I haven’t really snooped in his stuff, there could be something that he’s written down somewhere.” Seamstress admitted. “It’s been hard ever since...well, he quit coming back.” She cleared her throat. “It might be worth a try, although you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not reading as fast as you guys might be.”

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.” Brother Mymble sympathized. 

“I want to.” Seamstress insisted. 

“Alright.” Brother Mymble said. “I can compile some notes on what I remember about sails and ship navigation and ship repair. And house repair, just to be safe. We don’t know which one of us might need to steer the house or in the worst case scenario fix the house, and it’s best to be prepared.”

“We should start now.” Seamstress suggested. “We have some time before dinner. I’d rather not go through my son’s papers today, but I would like to know some basic ship terminology.” 

“It sounds like we have a plan.” Emil declared. “For now though, I think somebody needs to get back to bed.”

“No I don’t!” Snufkin protested. “You don’t have to protect me because I’m young! I want to help too!”

“You’re doing well, but you’re still healing.” Emil reminded him. “You barely managed to walk to the dining room table. You need physical therapy, and to rest so that your lungs can heal.”

Snufkin opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it. Emil was right. Age had little to do with this. But he was sick of being useless.

“How about this.” Brother Mymble suggested. “We’ll look through Patch’s notes, and you can give them a second glance to see if there’s anything that we missed. It’s fairly low-effort work, and it can be accomplished from your bed. How about that?”

“I suppose that will do.” Snufkin sighed. 

“Snufkin, I don’t recommend stairs yet,” Emil said, “so do you mind if I…?”

“If you must.” Snufkin allowed Emil to pick him up and carry him back to his bed.

“You know,” Emil told Snufkin as he climbed the stairs, “all things considered, you’re being a model patient.”

“Thank you.” Snufkin said politely.

“I know you want to be outside,” Emil fiddled with the bedroom doorknob, “and I know that you hate people telling you what to do and you hate the fact that you’re stuck on a floating house and you have no idea when you’re getting out.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Snufkin remarked dryly. 

“Heh.” Emil chuckled slightly. “I suppose we’re all getting stir crazy. But I know that this has been affecting you the most.”

“The rowboat was worse.” Snufkin shrugged, dodging the unasked question.

“Yes, the rowboat was worse, but you can still be frustrated about the current situation.” Emil gently set Snufkin down on the bed. “That’s allowed.”

“I suppose it’s bugging me a little.” Snufkin admitted, pulling the covers over himself. “I’ve always prided myself on being a free spirit, but…” He trailed off.

“I’ve always prided myself on being well-ordered and prepared for any situation. But this...well, it’s not in any of my textbooks anyway.” Emil sighed. “For one, all we had to treat you was a small bottle of pills and some water and iodine...and then I was excited because I thought that all I had to do was wait a few weeks and then everything would be back to normal...and then these pirates show up.”

“Well, it could be worse.” Snufkin pointed out.

“I’d say it couldn’t, but I’ve been proven wrong before.” Emil groused.

“Hm…” Snufkin frowned.

“What is it?”

“It never occurred to me that telling someone that ‘it could be worse’ could be seen as pessimistic instead of optimistic.”

Emil laughed. “Well, I do lean towards pessimism. Thankfully, Brother Mymble has an optimistic outlook on life, and we balance each other out.”

“So after you met Brother Mymble for the first time, how did he end up becoming your doctor assistant?" Snufkin was curious. 

“That’s actually a pretty interesting story.” Emil told him. “Brother Mymble ran away from my office because he was scared that I’d put him and his siblings in an orphanage where they’d be separated.” 

“I’ve heard it’s common for mymble families in orphanages to be split up due to their size.” Snufkin explained.

“Unfortunately, that seems to be the case.” Emil scowled. “I understand his reasons for running away, although I wished that he’d waited a bit longer before he did so. A few months later, he came down with a case of diphtheria, so I had to quarantine him. Then two of his siblings were almost killed by a vegetable thief. Pretty crazy times. In the middle of all that, Brother Mymble took an interest in becoming a doctor. I decided that I’d kind of sort of adopt them. You know, give them a place to sleep and cook the food that they’d find, and buy it myself when they didn’t have any. I don’t know why, maybe my mentor Dr. Moomin rubbed off on me more than I thought, but I don’t really have any regrets.” Emil smiled. It had been the first time that Snufkin had seen him look that happy.

“Anyway, I digress.” Emil adjusted his doctor’s coat. “You know that Brother Mymble and I wouldn’t ask you to do all this resting and stuff if we didn’t think it was absolutely necessary for you to do so.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” Snufkin fidgeted with the edge of the blanket.

“Someday, this will all be over and a distant memory.” Emil awkwardly patted Snufkin’s knee. “Anyway, I should join Brother Mymble and Seamstress Hemulen. Maybe I can finally learn the difference between port and starboard.”

“Don’t forget to wake me for dinner.” Snufkin yawned. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was feeling a bit tired. 

“I won’t.” Emil promised as he shut the door behind him.

Snufkin closed his eyes. Even though he had just had a cup of coffee, he quickly fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -There's an episode in the 90s anime where Snorkmaiden gets held hostage by a lone pirate from a shipwreck. Thankfully, she thinks to ask for a glass of water. Snufkin helps save the day by suggesting that the one glass of water should be drugged, and suggests that Moomin should deliver them.  
> -Patch's pirating enterprise is actually based on the fact that there were often different copies of Shakespeare's work floating around. For example, there are three different editions of Hamlet; two quartos and a folio. The First Quarto (AKA the Bad Quarto) was thought to be taken from an actor who played only a small part in the play. The Second Quarto was thought to be from an audience member. The Folio (a book published by Shakespeare's friends that was filled with plays) has a note in it basically calling all the theater pirates out. Copyright protections weren't really a thing in the Bard's time. It just seemed like a mumrik thing to do. :)


	10. About the News

The word of Snufkin’s death spread quickly through Moominvalley.

Snorkmaiden heard about it from her brother Snork. Her first thought was for Moomin. “Snork, I have to see Moomin. I have to make sure he’s alright!”

“I think he needs to be alone right now.” Snork gently told her. “He has his mamma and pappa nearby in case he needs anything.”

“Oh…” Snorkmaiden didn’t feel the tears come yet, perhaps she was too shocked to cry. Irrationally, all she could think about was how much she had been looking forward to his spring tune. She couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that she might never hear it again. 

“Are you sure? There has to be a mistake!” Little My demanded. 

“Moominmamma and Moominpappa had his things.” Snork told her. “As much as I’d like it to be otherwise...I don’t think so.”

Little My turned and ran off.

“Little My!” Snorkmaiden called, but Little My had already disappeared into the forest. 

Sniff just stood there, eyes wide and blinking. 

“Sniff, are you alright?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“Yes.” Sniff nodded. “I just…” He trailed off.

“Do you want to come home with us?” Snork offered.

“I’m alright.” Sniff insisted.

“Well, the offer’s always there if you change your mind.” Snork held out his paw to Snorkmaiden. “Do you want to go home?”

Snorkmaiden looked over at Sniff. “Are you sure?”

“I understand if you don’t want to play tag anymore.” Sniff gave her a fake smile. “I just need to be alone for awhile. Like Moomin.”

“Alright…” Snorkmaiden agreed uncertainly. She took her brother’s paw, and let him lead her back to the house. 

_Poor Snufkin...poor Moomin...poor everyone..._

* * *

Sniff ran home soon after Snorkmaiden left with his thoughts racing. Snufkin couldn’t be gone, he just couldn’t be! He slammed his door with enough force to shake his hut and knock a tin cup off of his shelf. He collapsed onto his bed as the tears began to flow. 

_I guess I’m Moomin’s best friend now._

That had been his first thought when he had heard the news. He knew it was selfish and irrational. Had it ever mattered who Moomin’s best friend was in the first place? Sniff wasn’t even sure if Moomin had ever ranked his friends. It would be very out of character of him. But Sniff knew that Moomin had always preferred Snufkin.

 _I’m Moomin’s best friend now._ Sniff pulled on his ears, as if that would stop him from hearing the thought in his head. 

Moomin and Snufkin had always gone out of their way to tell him how fond they were of him, but the thought still wouldn’t leave. It wasn’t a productive or a nice thought. Sniff should really be….

Actually, Sniff had no idea what he should be doing. It felt like there was something to be doing, but there wasn’t really anything that he could do right now. 

Why did everyone in his life leave him?

Sniff thought of his father and his mother, and the last time he saw them. He could barely remember their faces, but he could see their tails swishing back and forth as they left him at the Moomin’s. He had their wedding photo somewhere, with a smiling Hodgekins in the background, but it was painful to look at. He wished that he had a photo of Snufkin somewhere.

Now that he thought of it…

Sniff dabbed his eyes with his pillowcase and reached into the secret drawer under his bed. He rooted around for a while before finding a small shiny red marble. Snufkin had given it to him a long time ago, mistaking it for a gem. Sniff could still see the grin on Snufkin’s face when he handed it to him. Sniff had felt bad telling him that it was just a marble, and not a precious ruby like Snufkin had hoped. Snufkin had been so happy to find that “ruby”, not because it was valuable, but because he knew that Sniff would like it.

Sniff held the marble up to a stray sunbeam and slowly rotated it, watching the light dance around it. He was starting to see Snufkin’s point of view. That marble was worthless on paper, but now it was suddenly one of the most valuable things that he owned now that Snufkin was gone. It wasn't as good as a photograph, but it was the last reminder that Sniff had of him.

 _Things always lasted longer than loved ones,_ Sniff thought to himself. He started to cry all over again. Why couldn’t it be the other way around? 

* * *

Little My ran through the forest, tears streaming down her face. Snufkin couldn’t be dead! She knew, deep down, that Snork would never say such a thing if he didn’t believe it absolutely true, but she still didn’t want to accept it. Any minute now, Snufkin would pop out from behind the trees and say: “Why are you crying Little My? I’m right here!” 

She knew Snufkin wouldn’t want anyone to be sad over his passing, he’d probably want Little My to go pull a prank or something. Little My would have gladly done so, but she was too heartbroken to even think of a prank.

As she got deeper into the forest, Little My slowed down. What should she do next? She knew that she didn’t want to go back to Moominhouse. All they would want to do was talk about Snufkin. No, it was better to forget, to pretend as if he had never existed. Just like her mother had attempted to do for Nuuskamuikkunen, Little My’s youngest brother.

Little My shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to forget Nuuskamuikkunen, and she definitely didn’t want to forget Snufkin either. But it was harder to push down the pain for Snufkin, perhaps because she knew him better. All she really remembered about Nuuskamuikkunen was that he liked hiding in tiny spaces and that he’d been much smaller than her (although, that may have been because he was a baby, mymble babies were known for being incredibly small). Little My wiped her eyes. Why did it hurt so much?

“Hi there!” A nasally voice shouted. “What’s wrong?”

“Stinky!” Little My jumped. “What do you think you’re doing, spying on people?”

“Well, I’m sorry.” Stinky didn’t sound apologetic at all. “I just thought that you seemed to be in trouble and I wanted to help.”

“You’re not helping at all Stinky!” Little My snapped. “Go away!”

“What’s wrong?” Stinky asked. “You’re crying like someone died or something.”

“That’s not funny!” Little My scolded him. “Snufkin’s dead!” 

“What?” For once in his life, Stinky seemed to be speechless. 

“Moominmamma and Moominpappa found his things this morning.” Little My started to feel the anger leave her. “He’d never leave them.”

“I knew he was late coming back this year,” Stinky mused, “but I just thought that he didn’t want to come back. I thought he got sick of you guys or something.”

“He’d never get sick of us!” Little My declared. “You maybe, but never us!”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that he’s dead.” Stinky said.

“Yeah.” Little My didn’t believe him, but she was sick of talking to him. As a matter of fact, she suddenly felt exhausted. “I’m going to my sister’s house. Just...leave me alone, alright?”

Stinky watched as Little My ran away. He rubbed his eyes as if he was trying to wake up for a dream.

_Snufkin? Dead?_

Sure, Stinky had never gotten along with him, but he had never wished him ill. At least, nothing more than a bad cold on a warm summer’s day. Death…Stinky shivered. He had never considered the possibility that death would come for someone he knew, and especially for someone that was so young.

It would be weird not having Snufkin to get in the way of his mischief. 

Suddenly, Stinky’s mind filled with chaotic possibilities. There were so many things he could do without Snufkin interfering! But strangely enough though, he didn’t feel like doing any of them. _Perhaps_ , Stinky _thought, There isn’t a reason to do something bad if no one is around to stop you_. He shook his head. He’d worry about what to do later. For now, he’d go back to his rock and try to fix himself some dinner. Maybe that would help.

* * *

“I just thought you’d want to know that Little My is at Mumble’s house.” The Inspector tipped his hat. “Anyway, I best be heading home now.”

“Thank you Inspector. That was very kind of you.” Moominmamma said. “Here, let me give you some of this bread that I made. I’d be happy if you shared some with Mumble and Little My.”

“Why thank you Moominmamma!” The Inspector took the bread and took a deep breath. “It smells absolutely divine.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” Moominmamma smiled.

“Moominmamma,” the Inspector hesitated, “how are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine.” Moominmamma reassured him.

“Well...if you say so.” The Inspector waved. “Have a goodnight!”

“You too!” As soon as Moominmamma closed the door, she caught sight of Snufkin’s bag and hat in the corner of the kitchen. Without thinking, she walked over to them, grabbed them, and set them on the table.

“What are you doing?” Moominpappa asked.

“I need to go through Snufkin’s things.” Moominmamma decided. “He wouldn’t want them to sit there gathering dust.”

“I agree dear, but now might be too soon." Moominpappa warned her.

"No, I think need to go through them now."

"What are you going to do with them?” Moominpappa responded. 

“Fix them.” Moominmamma answered. “Then...I don’t know.”

“I’ll join you.” Moominpappa pulled up a chair. 

“Thank you dear.” Moominmamma smiled gratefully. Paws shaking, Moominmamma gently opened Snufkin’s pack. The first thing she did was gently pull out a few blankets. She found his coffee pot and his cooking pot wrapped in them. Thankfully, they seemed mostly unharmed. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Snufkin’s map. The water had caused the ink to run, rendering the map unreadable. She could hear her husband wince as she carefully extracted it. She pulled out a few changes of clothing, some food (mostly rotten), a few spare pairs of socks, and a sewing kit. Moominmamma held the sewing kit in her hands. She recognized it as the one she had put together for Snufkin a long time ago. She felt her eyes begin to well up. She could still remember teaching him advanced sewing techniques. She could still see his face once he learned how to sew his pants so that the stitching was on the inside and not on the outside. “I’d never thought of that before!” Snufkin had told her, his amazed grin stretching from ear to ear. Moominmamma dabbed at her eyes. 

Moominpappa continued removing things from Snufkin’s pack. He gently detached the tent. He found knives, some silverware, a stirring spoon, a box of matches, and some spare fishing line. Snufkin’s fishing rod seemed to have been lost in the storm, along with his lantern. Moominpapa remembered occasionally walking outside in the middle of the night, only to see Snufkin fishing. “They like the cooler temperatures.” He’d insist. “It’s the same reason you have an easier time fishing in the rain.”

“Aren’t you worried about falling asleep and then falling in the river?” Moominpappa once asked him.

“Well,” Snufkin had shrugged, “I’ve only fallen in once. But I woke up when I hit the water.”

Moominpappa suppressed a laugh. If Snufkin decided to do something, or if he thought that somebody else was doing something that he was interested in, he would do it. It was one of his best qualities. _Maybe that was the reason Snufkin was so wise for his age_ , Moominpappa mused. Now that the large pocket was empty, Moominpappa started to dig through the side pockets. His fingers closed around a circle with a hole in it. Upon further inspection, Moominpappa could feel a bump at the end. Bemused, he pulled out a pipe. 

“Since when has Snufkin had a pipe?” Moominmamma was shocked.

“Maybe he picked it up somewhere?” Moominpappa turned the pipe over in his paws. “It doesn’t look used, and we’d know if he was using it.”

“He doesn’t have any tobacco, does he?” Moominmamma asked.

“Not that I’ve found.”

“Then why would he have a pipe?”

Both Moominparents started at the pipe, as if it would suddenly answer them. But the only person who could truly answer that question was Snufkin.

“Should I hide it?” Moominpappa turned to Moominmamma.

“Maybe that’s the best thing to do dear.” She agreed.

“What are you guys doing?” Moomin made his way down the staircase.

“We thought it might be nice to sort through Snufkin’s things.” Moominmamma explained as Moominpappa hid the pipe. 

“Why?” Moomin frowned. 

“Snufkin wouldn’t want them to sit in the corner of our kitchen forever.” Moominmamma gently pointed out.

“I guess not.” Moomin gingerly approached the table. “Have you seen Snufkin’s harmonica?” 

“Sweetheart,” Moominmamma said sadly, “Snufkin usually carried that in his pocket. I don’t think…”

“Found it.” Moominpappa announced, pulling the harmonica out from one of the side pockets.

Moominmamma’s eyes widened. For as long as she had known Snufkin, he had kept his harmonica in his pocket. “It’s always good to have your harmonica as close to you as possible.” he had explained once. “You never know when inspiration might strike.” It was also the reason why he had rejected every single one of Moominpappa's offers to make Snufkin a case for his harmonica. The quicker Snufkin could get to it, the sooner it could make beautiful music. 

Snufkin had no logical reason to put the harmonica in his backpack instead of his pocket. Perhaps he had been afraid of it falling out of it for some reason. Like if he had to swim in a flood…but then he would’ve needed enough time on dry land to stow it away.

Moominmamma knew it was irresponsible, but her heart soared anyway. If Snufkin had survived the wave...but surviving much longer than that was unlikely….but if he’d survived a wave large enough to down trees and make clearings where there was once a forest, there was a chance that he’d figured something out. It was better than the zero chance that Topias had originally said. 

“Can I play it?” Moomin whispered. 

“The harmonica? Of course you can.” Moominmamma composed herself. “Snufkin would want you to.” There was no point in telling Moomin her suspicions, not yet. To be honest, she could hardly believe them herself. The odds were slim, but her heart told her that Snufkin was still alive, even as her brain and common sense told her otherwise.

Paws shaking, Moomin took the harmonica and blew into it.

 _Sqreek!_ Moominmamma and Moominpappa covered their ears. It was horrendously out of tune. 

“It’s broken.” Moomin said despondently. 

“Hm…” Moominpappa mused. “The harmonica was underwater for a long time. That may have rusted it and caused the reeds to swell.”

“This was Snufkin’s most treasured possession.” Moomin gripped the harmonica tightly. “He loved it so much. I just thought if I could play it, even a little bit…” he trailed off. 

“Maybe the Snork can fix it!” Moominpappa suggested eagerly.

“You think so?” Moomin brightened. 

“Well, it wouldn't hurt to ask him.” Moominmamma agreed. “For now though, I think you should get some rest. You can see him in the morning.”

“Okay.” Moomin’s tail flicked nervously. “Do you mind if I keep it for now?” 

“I don’t see why not.” Moominpappa said. 

“Do you want a bedtime snack?” Moominmamma offered. “Some pudding, maybe?”

“I’m alright Mamma.” Moomin said. “I’m not hungry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight dear.” Moominmamma watched her son climb the stairs. 

As soon as Moomin was out of sight, Moominpappa pulled out Snufkin’s pipe again. “Do you think Moomin knows anything about this pipe?”

“I don’t think now is a good time to ask.” Moominmamma 

“I suppose not, but…” Moominpappa sighed. “It bugs me. I mean, he was basically like a son, but for some reason I feel like there’s so much we don’t know about Snufkin. Of course, part of it is because he was a private person. It took us forever just to get him to talk about his childhood. But we've known him so long that I feel terrible for not knowing more. Does that make any sense?”

“Hm…” Moominmamma tried to make sense of her husband’s jumbled thoughts. “I suppose one is never really done knowing a person, even if they’re really close to them. Just as one is never done finding out new things about themselves.”

“Precisely!” Moominpappa nodded. “That’s what I meant! I just wish...I just wish that we had more time.”

“Well,” Moominmamma said thoughtfully, “We know his birthday. We know that he likes music. We know that he hates new clothes and new things.”

“We knew that he likes fishing.” Moominpappa continued. “He had plenty of fishing stories from his travels. He told me once that he had always wanted to go trout fishing.”

“Trout fishing?” Moominmamma hadn’t known that.

“Yeah. Trout fishing. Snufkin didn’t think he’d like it as much as trolling around in a rowboat, but he thought it sounded like the kind of thing you’d try once.”

“His favorite dish is char gratin.” Moominmamma said.

“Really?” Moominpappa was surprised. “I guess that makes sense. How did I not know that?”

“He’s never asked for it, but I made it for him once and he wouldn’t stop talking about it.” Moominmamma smiled. “That’s how I knew it was his favorite. I make it for him whenever I can.”

“He loved all your cooking. Everyone does.” Moominpappa professed.

“Snufkin would love my cooking if I baked nothing but mud pies.” Moominmamma pointed out. “He’s a very polite child.”

“That he was.” Moominpappa agreed. 

“He loves nature.” Moominmamma added. “And he hates fences.” She chuckled. “He’s gotten into a lot of trouble around fences.”

“Ah yes.” Moominpappa grinned. “Do you remember the tale he used to tell about breaking out of prison with a can opener?”

“Of course I do!” Moominmamma laughed. “Do you remember the tale of when he made a snowman out of sand on some beach and the local children started copying him?”

“Assuming Snufkin wasn't exaggerating, he caused quite the ruckus!” Moominpappa chortled. “I believe the local police tried to arrest him for...vandalism?”

“Inciting a riot, I think.” Moominmamma corrected him.

“Ah yes, I remember now!”

The two of them passed the rest of the night away, telling stories about Snufkin. And for a while, it was like he had never left them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Nuuskamuikkunen is Snufkin's Finnish name. Why did I not go with his Swedish one? Your guess is as good as mine.  
> -Hopefully I didn't write Stinky too callously. Although he did canonically eat Moomin's house if you go by the comics. Apologies if it was too far, please kindly let me know in a way that keeps my house intact.  
> -Snufkin did smoke a pipe in the books, but not in the anime, as I'm sure many of you know. Just throwing that out there just in case someone was confused.  
> -So I made a tumblr, @the-walking-pie. Do what you will with that information. I am new-ish to tumblr (I had a different account years ago but barely used it) and I pretty much made it so that it would be easier to look at Moomin stuff. (And maybe reply to some posts...I'm kind of shy and nervous for some reason, even though I'm hiding behind a screen and in some cases an entire ocean).


	11. About Fixing Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news and fair warning everyone, this is the longest chapter so far! :D  
> Also, I'm 500 words away from breaking my longest story ever record, so that's good.   
> Thank you all so much for your kind words! I'm sorry that I keep making you all cry. (Well, kind of).  
> Anyway, here you are!

With the receding water levels, the Dam Valley rescue operations were coming to a close, and Little My was exhausted. She had desperately been hoping that Brother Mymble would eventually show up with Emil, but there hadn’t been any sign that either one of them had survived. They had done some good work relocating the refugees. Little My organized everyone and kept track of the survivors, while her sister Myrtle found homes for them. Her brother Myron was in charge of the rescue ships (Myron’s ship master owned most of the ships and would normally be in charge, but he had his hands full with locating other sea vessels). Little My’s younger sisters, Myra and Myriam, helped coordinate supplies like food and clothing. Topias, a hemulen who had randomly wandered in towards the beginning of the disaster relief effort, was useful for calming the children. It was a challenging process, and Little My was glad that she had the help of so many people. There had been some good days, like when they reunited a family of fillyjonks, and some bad days, like when Little My had to tell a moomin couple that their adopted son had perished. But in the end, the results were well worth it. Staring over the slowly-draining river, Little My knew that Brother Mymble would be proud.

“Little My!” Topias called. “Over here!”

Little My abandoned her watching post and hurried over to Topias. “What’s the matter?”

A little moomin girl was squirming on Topias’s lap. “Well...” he began.

“Lemme go!” the moomin shouted. “I wanna find my dadda!”

“Calm down!” Little My instructed the child. “We can’t assist you unless we have some information to extrapolate from!”

“What? I mean, yeah!” Topias looked absolutely befuddled. 

“What does ex-extupulate mean?” the child asked, lip trembling.

“Oh. Well…” Little My felt her cheeks turn red. Despite having four younger siblings, she had never been gifted with kids. 

“How about you tell us more about your father?” Topias suggested.

“Okay.” the child agreed. “My dadda is a carpenter. Our town got attacked by the pirates. Dadda was hiding me under his bench. He said he'd be back…" she began to sniffle.

Little My awkwardly patted the little moomin’s back as she started to wail. _Pirates on the river?_ That was not good. 

“There there.” Topias tried to soothe the child by bouncing her up and down.

“I want my dadda!” the moomin cried. 

“What’s your dadda’s name?” Little My asked.

“Moomindadda.” the child sniffed.

 _Of course it is,_ Little My thought to herself. “I will make some inquiries. I will return soon.” Little My abruptly stood up and left, making her way towards the ships. She had once been in the same position as the moomin child, pulling on a stranger’s leg, begging him to search for her family. And then again when Brother Mymble had fallen ill. She wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing when there were better actions to take. 

“Myron!” She called to her brother. He was sitting on the bow of a large ship, complete with a lot of sails.

“What’s up sis?” Myron casually greeted her.

“How soon do you think you can charter a ship?” She asked.

Myron shrugged. “Where to? The shipmaster doesn’t think we should take the ships too far, the water’s dropping.”

“There’s a little moomin girl who’s father has been taken by pirates.” Little My decided to cut straight to the chase. “I want to go after them.”

“Pirates on the river?” Myron frowned. “Don’t they realize that the water will recede eventually and their boat will be wrecked? What logical reason would they have to be on it?”

“I don’t know.” Little My admitted. “To be perfectly honest though, I’m not worried about that point right now.”

“Shipmaster won’t like it.” Myron pointed out. 

“Do it anyway.” Little My commanded. “And besides, this girl’s father at least has a chance. Unlike our parents.”

“You want me to break the rules?” Myron smirked.

“Well, I suppose.” Little My adjusted her glasses. “We can pay for the boat with Brother Mymble’s savings.”

“Oh boy!” Myron chuckled. “I never thought I’d see this day! My sister, breaking the rules and spending money recklessly!” 

“Be quiet!” Little My hissed. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves!”

“Nobody’s paying any attention sis.” Myron rolled his eyes.

“At midnight, meet me at the river mouth with the biggest ship you can acquire.” Little My knew she was going to regret this, but she owed it to Brother Mymble to at least try and get the little moomin’s father back. She knew that if he was around, he would already have a rowboat in the water.

“Alrighty.” Myron winked. “See you then, sis!”

“Please be subtle.” Little My requested, but he was already gone.

Yep, she was going to regret this. 

* * *

The preparations for the pirate invasion were well underway. Brother Mymble was outside attempting to put together some sort of defense from the pots, pans, and china in Seamstress’s cupboards. Emil was busy pouring over Patch’s notes. So far, he hadn’t found anything about pirates minus a passing reference in a play. Snufkin had read a few of the notes too while recovering, but he hadn’t found anything useful either. Seamstress had been looking at the notes, but she was finding them too painful. Instead, she had switched to making a spare set of sails out of some more leftover quilts. It became clear that Patch’s notes weren’t likely to hold any answers anyway. Now that Snufkin was gaining some strength, he was helping too. He couldn’t climb the stairs without stopping, but he was able to cross the room without too much trouble. 

“You’re pretty good at sewing.” Seamstress complemented Snufkin. “Where did you learn?”

Snufkin reached the end of the blanket and made a knot. “Moominmamma taught me. It’s an important skill for anyone who wants to travel on their own. Almost as important as cooking.”

“I tried for years to get my son to sit down and let me teach him some basic sewing skills! He was always like, ‘Oh no, that’s woman’s work.’ Then one winter, he ripped his trousers right down the center!” Seamstress laughed. “He changed his mind pretty quickly after that.”

Snufkin couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Patch was a very independent kid.” Seamstress smiled fondly. “I remember when he was six, and he wanted to go traveling with a mumrik that had just come into town. Thankfully, she was very generous and let Patch travel with her that winter. By the time he was nine, he was traveling on his own.”

Snufkin was a bit jealous. His first memories were of him being alone. Now he didn’t mind so much (it was actually kind of nice sometimes), but what he would’ve given to have a place like Moominvalley sooner in his life!

“I was always worried about him, but he’d always tell me where he was going and when he planned to be back. He was very responsible. Patch would write me the most amazing letters. I kept every single one, of course.” Seamstress paused in her sewing.

Snufkin, who had heard all of this before, felt the familiar twinge of guilt that came with hearing about Patch. The more he heard about Patch, the more inadequate he felt. He didn’t deserve to be Moomin’s friend. Patch was so much more considerate about his travels than Snufkin had ever been. 

“I just wish…” Seamstress gripped the makeshift sail. “I wish that he and I had parted on better terms. Maybe if I hadn’t scolded him for being so reckless, he wouldn’t have gotten so mad…”

Snufkin set his needle down. Seamstress had never gone into much detail about her son’s disappearance, at least not when he was around. 

“But I tell him that all the time. He never takes me seriously of course. This year, he had intentions to go south and swim with some sharks…” Seamstress shuddered.

“Sharks?” Snufkin’s eyes widened. He had seen them swimming around while he was fishing a few times. 

“I think Patch grew disenchanted with the idea after I yelled at him.” Seamstress admitted. “But he’s a very stubborn person, so he fought its merits for awhile. Then he changed his mind and decided to head north. There was some play that he had heard about, I forget the specifics. I was reassured for a minute. Then,” she rolled her eyes, “he decided that he should go spelunking in some of the caves over there. By himself.” She sighed. “I still maintain that spelunking in caves on your own is probably one of the worst ideas ever. However, in the process of telling Patch this, I called him a little boy. He was 17 at the time, and he did not take that insult well.”

Snufkin sympathized with Patch. He had never liked being treated as a child. 

“He went to bed in a foul mood, and he was still very mad the next morning. He left around noon...” Seamstress’s eyes filled with tears. "His last words to me were, 'I'm a man Mother! I'll prove it to you!'"

Snufkin put a hand on her shoulder.

Seamstress Hemulen wiped her face with her sleeve. “After he didn’t come back the first year, I paid someone to go searching for him in the north. There wasn’t a trace of him. As far as he could tell, my son had never even been in the north.”

“He may have been sticking to the forest.” Snufkin guessed. “That area is pretty unfriendly to mumriks. I've heard of some bad things happening up there.” 

“Do you think someone might have…” Seamstress turned pale.

Snufkin mentally beat himself up. _Why had he said that?_ “No, no, no.” he hastily reassured her. “If that happened, the person you hired would’ve told you. I’m certain.”

“Groke help me!” Seamstress exclaimed passionately. “There’s a million things that could’ve happened to him, and I’ll never know for certain, will I?” she burst into tears. 

Snufkin felt a lump in his throat. He tightened his grip on her shoulder.

Emil set down the papers and moved to console Seamstress, gently patting her back.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Seamstress wailed.

“Not as long as you remember him.” Emil replied. “As long as you remember him, he’ll never leave you.”

Snufkin felt the lump in his throat grow bigger, almost choking him.

“I just want one last…” Seamstress gave a kind of strangled laugh. “Well, one last anything to be honest. One last talk, one last fight, one last dinner, one last adventure…to tell him that I love him one last time.” She took another swipe at her face. “What if he’s not coming back because he thinks I don’t love him anymore? Or that he d-died, and that he thought I didn’t love him.” She started sobbing again. 

“I’m sure he knows that you love him.” Emil reassured her.

Seamstress nodded, but she didn’t seem entirely convinced. 

“You being there…” Snufkin swallowed. “You being there meant the world to him. I...it’s...it’s hard to find people to stand behind you in this world. Especially if one likes to do as they please. And from what I’ve heard...you stood behind him. I’m sure he knows.”

“Snufkin…” Seamstress gave him a side hug. Startled, Snufkin pulled away. “Thank you.” She said. “I needed to hear that. I just...I just want closure. You know?”

“I understand.” Snufkin nodded.

“Either way,” Seamstress vigorously dabbed at her eyes, “I’m going to be there for him. If he’s still out there, I’ll be waiting for him. That’s just what a mother does.”

The front door burst open. “Hey y’all! Guess what I figured out...” Brother Mymble stopped as he noticed the scene playing out. “What happened? Can I help?”

“I was reminiscing about my son.” Seamstress seemed to be a bit more composed now. “So, what destruction have you brought upon my china?”

“We have plenty left, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to burn them all on testing.” Brother Mymble explained. “Anyway, I figured out how to rig some simple makeshift cannons. They won’t launch anything with enough force to put a hole in a ship or anything, but they launch pretty far so they’ll be pretty annoying for the pirates to deal with. The aim's not too bad either.”

“Nice work!” Emil praised him.

“I wish I could get it working a bit better.” Brother Mymble lamented. “Make us more of a threat, you know?”

“I have a pair of scissors.” Seamstress volunteered. “And a few knives too.”

“We’d probably want those to stay on board.” Brother Mymble decided. “Just in case. But hopefully we don’t have to use them.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Emil shivered.

“I think I’ve done all I can on the cannon front.” Brother Mymble said. “Do you guys need any help with anything in here?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Alrighty then. I’ll just stock up the row boat…”

“I don’t want to get back in that thing.” Snufkin blurted out. 

“It’s just a precautionary measure.” Brother Mymble reassured him. “Hopefully, it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, we’ll be in better shape than last time.”

“I suppose that’s a good idea…” Snufkin admitted. Even so, he still couldn’t get the first few weeks of the flood out of his head. The fear, the thirst, the hunger, the cramped conditions, the hopelessness...he shuddered. 

“It’s not going to come to that.” Emil echoed Brother Mymble’s sentiments. “Anyway. I think I’ll go help you pack the boat. I’ve almost finished reading Patch’s notes.”

“What did you think of them?” Seamstress asked nervously. 

“He was a very well-spoken person.” Emil smiled kindly. “I would’ve liked to have met him.”

“That he was.” Seamstress nodded, picking up her needle. “That he was.”

Snufkin picked up his needle too. He couldn’t help but wonder though. If the encounter with the pirates went south, what would the moomins remember about him? Would they remember Snufkin as their friend that came back every year and played nice music?

Or would they remember a Snufkin who, at least on the surface, appeared to not care about them?

Snufkin tried to focus on his stitching, but the thought didn’t leave his head. He vowed that if he ever got back to Moominvalley, he would tell everyone how much he loved them. And maybe, just maybe, he’d hear the same thing back. And if he didn't, he hoped that they'd forgive him. 

XXX

Moominmamma pulled the gratin out of the oven and carefully set it next to the plate of cookies. For some reason, she had just been in the mood to cook. Moominpappa was out fishing and Moomin was out getting Snufkin’s harmonica fixed. She gently stirred the bean and ham soup on the stove. She used to send Snufkin with a few frozen things of bean and fish soup for him to eat for the first few weeks of his journey. It was high in protein, and very filling. 

_Knock, knock_. Moominmamma turned down the burner and opened the door. It was Mymble, and for once she didn’t have her kids with her. 

“I came as soon as I heard.” Mymble had a metal tin in her hands. “How have you been?”

“Fine.” Moominmamma responded.

“It stinks in here.” Mymble wrinkled her nose. “Have you been cooking fish?”

“Yes.” Moominmamma frowned. “Where are your kids?”

“I left Mymble Jr. in charge.” Mymble explained. “I don’t like to do it a lot, because it stresses her out, but every once in a while…” She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’m not sure how to help you best so I brought you a lasagna, but it seems like you’ve been doing a lot of cooking.”

“Help yourself.” Moominmamma offered. “I have gratin, bean and fish soup, company potatoes, some stuffing, a bunch of deserts, including seed pudding…”

“I’m quite alright, thank you.” Mymble looked over the smorgasbord. There was food as far as she could see. There were deserts on top of the cupboards, the bread box was filled to bursting, and there were dishes piled in the sink, waiting to be washed. “Have you done anything other than cooking recently?” 

“Well, I…” Moominmamma trailed off. 

“Is it for the funeral?”

Moominmamma felt her stomach plummet. 

“It’s a very difficult thing, to plan a loved one’s funeral.” Mymble put a hand on Moominmamma’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You were kind enough to plan one for my Joxter and my dear Nuuskamuikkunen. Just know that I’m here for you if you need me. Actually, now that I think about it, why don’t I help you cook?”

“Well, I...um…” Moominmamma tried to recompose herself.

“Honey, I’m home!” Moominpappa burst through the door. “I’ve got plenty of fish...oh hello Mymble!”

“Hello Moominpappa.” Mymble greeted him. “I’m sorry to hear about Snufkin.”

“Yes…” Moominpappa’s tail dropped. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

“It was a tragedy.” Mymble agreed. “I was just bringing home some lasagna and some goodwill, but it looks like you guys have enough food to feed an army, like usual. When is the funeral?”

“The funeral?” Moominpappa queried.

“Are you not at that point yet?” Mymble winced apologetically. 

“I-we haven’t really planned one.” Moominmama admitted. 

“I could plan it if you wanted me to.” Mymble offered. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, that...generous...but…” Moominmamma stammered.

“You did it for me twice.” Mymble reminded her.

“Yes. Well. I don’t think Snufkin’s…I mean, I need to talk to Moominpappa first.” Moominmamma turned to Mymble and abruptly handed her a bowl of seed pudding. “I hate to ask, but could you wait outside for a minute?”

“Okay.” Mymble grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and went to the veranda. 

Moominpappa waited until the door shut. “Have I been fishing that much?” he worried. 

“I know Mymble has good intentions,” Moominmamma set the soup spoon down, “but I have things under control. When the funeral needs to happen, it will happen. For now...I’m fine.”

Moominpappa leaned his fishing pole on the wall. 

“Besides, would Snufkin even want a funeral?” Moominmamma fretted. “He’s not really big on crowds…”

“He wasn’t.” Moominappa corrected.

“...and he doesn't like being the center of attention, or being fussed over.” Moominmamma continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Plus we’d have to pull up a bunch of flowers, and he’d _hate_ that. And then there’s the matter of a grave site...” her lip quivered. 

Moominpappa put a paw on her shoulder. He felt guilty. His wife had been taking Snufkin’s death very hard, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Moominmamma took a few deep breaths, trying to compose herself again. “When we were going through Snufkin’s bag, did you find it strange that his harmonica was in there?”

“Now that you mention it, that is a little strange.” Moominpappa mused.

“I’m wondering, hoping actually,” Moominmamma said nervously, “that maybe he somehow missed being hit by the first wave in the dam collapse.” 

“Hm…” Moominpappa frowned.

“You don’t think so, do you.” Moominmamma looked deep into Moominpappa’s eyes.

“I don’t want to dash your hopes, but it seems unlikely.” Moominpappa sighed. “I want to believe he’s alive, I really do, but even if you’re correct…”

“...The odds of him surviving after that are low.” Moominmamma finished for him.

“There’s also the possibility that the water was rising while he was walking, and he slipped the harmonica into his backpack before the dam...well, you know.” For a minute, it looked as if Moominpappa was about to cry, but he managed to compose himself.

“I suppose that’s true, but…well...” Moominmama felt her eyes well up. The soup started to boil over. She quickly turned down the heat on the burner, hoping that her husband wouldn’t see. 

“I’m sorry.” Moominpappa apologized. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright.” Moominmamma cut him off. “I just...deep down, I have this gut feeling that he’s alive. It makes no sense, and all rational sense goes against it, but I’d know if he’d died. Right?”

“One would think so.” Moominpappa started to fidget with the end of his tail. “If you’re not ready for a funeral yet, or you think Snufkin wouldn’t have wanted one, then we won’t hold one. It’s that simple.”

“Mymble felt the same way about Joxter and Nuuskamuikkunen, you know.” Moominmamma told him. “Even the days of their funerals, she was still looking in the woods, hoping that they’d come back.”

“It’s natural to feel that way.” Moominpappa nodded sadly. 

“If we had a funeral, would it help you?” Moominmamma looked at her husband. Moominpappa had lost a lot in his life, and he had seen more than his fair share of burials.

“Well I’d li—” Moominpappa cut himself off. “That’s not the point. I’m not the one doing the planning, and I don’t have to deal with the arrangements. Unless you need me to. I'd be okay with that, although I know I'm rather prone to messing stuff like that up...either way,” he decided, “this isn’t about me.” 

“It’s not about me either.” Moominmamma had figured out from Moominpappa’s reaction that he needed a funeral, and she was certain that he wasn’t the only one. “Everyone’s suffering, everyone wants some closure. And to be honest…” Moominmamma gulped down a sob. “...I can’t discount everything you’ve said. Maybe...maybe we should do it.”

“Moominmamma…”

“Maybe I should make my peace with a funeral.” Moominmamma turned off the soup burner. Her bean and fish soup was done. “Maybe it’d be nice to have Mymble to help me.”

“You don’t seem to have fully made up your mind.” Moominpappa warned. “I don’t want you to make any sudden decisions.”

“We don’t have to take the process fast.” Moominmamma said. “I could talk to Mymble about helping me set up a funeral in a few weeks. If we keep the date a secret for awhile, and the situation rapidly changes for some reason, we can always cancel it.”

“If you’re sure.” Moominpappa agreed uncertaintly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“For now, you talking with me is all I need.” Moominmamma kissed him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Moominpappa returned the kiss. “If you need any help with the funeral, no matter how trivial, just ask me, alright? I know these things can be stressful.”

“I will.” Moominmamma promised, walking to the veranda to tell Mymble her decision. “I will.”

* * *

“Hm…” Snork held his magnifying glass up to the harmonica. 

“Do you think it will work this time?” Moomin asked anxiously.

“I’m not sure.” Snork admitted. “I don’t see any rust on the harmonica. I dried it off again, but I’m not sure how much of a difference it would make.”

“Try putting it back together again!” Snorkmaiden suggested.

“Worth a shot.” Snork grabbed his screwdriver. “Who knows, maybe we’ll be lucky this time.”

Moomin watched as Snork delicately reassembled the harmonica. Snork gently lifted it, and…

_Do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, Bzz…_

“Stupid second hole from the left!” Snork huffed. “It still sounds horrible!”

“The rest of the notes sounded kind of pretty.” Snorkmaiden said. “It’s definitely better than before.”

“But it doesn’t sound the same!” Snork groaned. “I’m not sure what else to do, but I know I can make it sound the same!”

“It mostly sounds alright.” Snorkmaiden tried to cheer her brother up. “And you can still play a song with only nine holes. You’ve done amazing work on it so far!”

“That’s true…” Snork rummaged around in his notes, but his frown grew deeper and deeper. “Moomin, there’s a few more things I can try, but they’re kind of risky. I know this was Snufkin’s harmonica, so if you want me to…”

“It’s alright.” Moomin sighed. “You tried your best, and I know Snufkin would appreciate it.” 

“Thank you.” Snork handed the harmonica back to Moomin. “I wish I could’ve done more.”

Moomin started forlornly at the harmonica. He knew that if Snufkin was here, he certainly would’ve figured out how to play something on it. Sometimes, his death felt like a bad dream, one Moomin would soon wake up from. But the cool metal of the harmonica pressing against his palm reminded him that Snufkin was gone. 

“Do you want to take a walk?” Snorkmaiden suggested. 

Moomin shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Snorkmaiden gently took Moomin’s paw.

“I’ll do some more reading.” Snork promised. “Maybe I can figure out some way to fix it that's less dangerous than cooking it over a fire.”

“Maybe.” Moomin smiled hopefully. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

“I’m glad you think so highly of me.” Snork turned a light red color. 

Snorkmaiden giggled. It was rare to see her brother change colors, and it was always a nice surprise when he did. “We should get going. See you in a bit, brother!”

Snork waved and started to clean his work space.

* * *

“Are you disappointed?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“Yeah.” Moomin kicked a rock. “Snork tried his best, but…”

“You were kind of hoping that he’d fix everything?”

“Yeah.”

The two walked in silence. There was a slight chill in the air. Spring had been unusually cold so far, almost as if it knew someone was missing. 

“I wish the weather would warm up.” Snorkmaiden sighed.

“It doesn’t feel right.” Moomin agreed. “Nothing feels right anymore.”

Snorkmaiden nodded sadly. 

Moomin tapped Snufkin’s harmonica a few times in his hand. He could still see Snufkin lazing under a tree with his harmonica, a tune floating through the air like a gentle breeze. He couldn’t play as well as Snufkin, but…

“I do know one song.” Moomin told Snorkmaiden.

“Oh?” Snorkmaiden perked up. 

Moomin tapped the harmonica a few more times. Was it really right of him to be playing it? Before he could change his mind, he thrust the harmonica up to his lips and began to play.

_Hot. Cross. Buns._

_Hot. Cross. Buns._

_One—a—pen—ny—two—a—pen—ny_

_Hot. Cross. Buns...._

Moomin’s playing sounded nowhere near as magical or even as good as what Snufkin would play. Snufkin's music was certain and vibrant, somehow able to convey both the deepest sorrow and a sense of exuberance at the same time. Moomin's playing sounded hesitant and nervous, as if it was unsure of where to go next, waiting for someone to lead it. 

“That was lovely!” Snorkmaiden complimented him.

“Snufkin would’ve played it better.” Moomin replied. 

“You still did a magnificent job!” Snorkmaiden insisted. “Plus, Snufkin had years of practice.”

“That’s true. He did have years of practice.” Moomin felt a bit better. It was still strange though, to be playing with Snufkin’s most prized possession (other than his hat, of course). Moominmamma was right, Snufkin would hate for his things to go to waste; but Moomin’s heart was still saying that Snufkin would be back again to play it someday, even though his head knew that wasn’t true.

“Moomin! Snorkmaiden!” Sniff came running down a hill. “Snufkin’s coming!”

“Sniff…” Moomin felt a pang of guilt. “It wasn’t Snufkin. I played his harmonica. I guess I thought…”

“I saw him!” Sniff interrupted. “I saw him!”

“What!?!?” Moomin and Snorkmaiden exclaimed at the same time.

“He’s coming down from the mountains!” Sniff yelled. “Come on!”

The trio ran up the hill. Sniff started to slow down, panting from the effort. Moomin quickly overtook him. Soon, he could see the outline of a hat…

“Wait!” Snorkmaiden yelled. “This is the northern part of the forest!”

 _The northern part…_ Moomin slowed down as Snorkmaiden’s words sank in. Snufkin always went south every winter. The figure couldn’t be him.

“Wait for me Moomin—oof!” Sniff ran straight into him. “What’s the big idea?”

“That’s not Snufkin.” Moomin peered at the figure. He watched as it slowly limped into the open. It was definitely a mumrik, but he appeared to be several years older than Snufkin was, or possibly an adult. He had an indigo hat on with a mop of frizzy blond hair and a pink nose. His shirt was covered with an array of colored squares, sewn on haphazardly. His leg was bent at an odd angle, and he was leaning on a wooden cane.

“Good evening.” The mumrik greeted them. 

“Good evening.” Snorkmaiden said politely.

“Are you a friend of Snufkin’s?” Sniff asked.

Moomin blinked. That possibility hadn’t occurred to him. He eyed the mumrik curiously. 

“I don’t think so.” the mumrik frowned. “But I could be.”

“What do you mean you could be?” Moomin asked.

“Well…you might not believe me, but...” the mumrik took off his hat. Underneath his bangs Moomin could just barely make out a long scar, spanning the length of his forehead. “I-I think my name is Patch. I suppose you can say I’m a globetrotter of sorts, but I’m not really sure who I am. And to be perfectly honest...I have no idea where I’m supposed to be. Are you able to help me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I slipped a very subtle Hamilton reference in this chapter, if anyone wants to find it.   
> -On a more important note, the next chapter has pirates.   
> -Also, buckle up everyone. :)


	12. About Holes

Snufkin was climbing the Lonely Mountains. His lungs were aching, but he was almost there. He was almost home. He could see Moominvalley on the horizon and could barely make out the figures in the distance; Moominpappa by the boathouse, Moomin waiting for him on the bridge, Moominmamma on the porch...

“You did it!” Brother Mymble yelled. “Your first ascending flight of stairs!”

Snufkin blinked. He was back in Seamstress Hemulen’s house again. His lungs were on fire. He nodded, unable to speak.

“Do you feel like you can walk back down or do you want me to help?” Brother Mymble asked.

“I, uh, I could use, some help.” Snufkin admitted between deep, gasping breaths. 

“Alrighty.” Brother Mymble gently lifted Snufkin up and carried him downstairs. At the foot of the stairs, Snufkin signaled for Brother Mymble to set him down. Snufkin made his way to the table to sit down and rest. Seamstress handed him a glass of water, which he drank gratefully. 

“Physical Therapy,” Snufkin reflected, “is very painful.” 

“Some people call their PT sessions ‘physical torture’ sessions.” Brother Mymble informed him.

Snufkin laughed. It hurt his ribs and set him into yet another coughing fit, but he didn’t care. Lately, there had been so little to laugh about. 

“You’ve been getting a lot of your independence back.” Brother Mymble reminded him. “That’s the whole reason you’ve been doing this, right?”

“Right.”

“We’ll rest for today,” Brother Mymble decided, “but I’m feeling optimistic about your progress. You’re doing great Snufkin.”

“Thank you.” Snufkin smiled. Soon, the stupid pneumonia and the ache in his lungs would be nothing but a memory.

“Snufkin, what do you want for dinner?” Seamstress asked.

“You want me to choose?” Snufkin’s eyes widened. 

“Of course!” Seamstress gave him a pat on the back, causing Snufkin to jump. “A victory like climbing up the stairs should be celebrated! I can’t guarantee that I’ll have the ingredients for it, but I’ll do my best.”

“I know the water level’s been getting lower lately, so we’re running low,” Snufkin admitted, “but can we have fish again?” 

“You seem to like fish.” Seamstress chuckled. “Thankfully, I think we have just enough for tonight.”

“Thank you!” Snufkin grinned. “I know we’ve been having it a lot recently.” 

“It’ll be better than that pickle salad Emil tried to serve us yesterday.” Seamstress made a face. “A piece of advice for you two, never let your guests cook. You never know what kind of crazy, half-baked…”

“They’re here!” Emil shouted from the top of the stairs. 

Snufkin felt his stomach drop. They were here. It was time. 

Seamstress ran upstairs. Snufkin reached his arms up to Brother Mymble, who picked him up again and followed. Snufkin was starting to get past the phase where he found being carried around humiliating. If he got where he needed to go, it worked.

They burst into the bathroom. Emil stepped aside, allowing Seamstress to look out of the open window. “Yep.” she remarked. “That is one big boat.”

“May I see?” Brother Mymble asked. Emil stepped into the bathtub, allowing Brother Mymble to see.

“I want to look too!” Snufkin tried to peek around everyone, but he was too short. 

“Is that Blackstar’s ship?” Emil asked Brother Mymble.

“Hm…” Brother Mymble mused. “They aren’t running their colors, er, putting their flag up.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Snufkin wondered.

“I don’t know.” Brother Mymble hesitated. “I mean, they wouldn’t raise their colors unless they intended to shoot, and they are well within range to do so. So either they aren’t the pirates, are pirates and want to bargain with us, or they are the pirates and they intend to board the ship in a sneak attack.”

“You mean you’re not sure if it’s the pirate ship?” Seamstress frowned. 

“It’s a fairly common ship model.” Brother Mymble apologized. “It could just be normal travelers riding on a ship. On a river…” He sounded less sure of himself. 

“We’ll stick to the original plan then.” Emil decided. “Snufkin, Seamstress, you two will man our makeshift cannons. Brother Mymble and I can run negotiations, feel out the situation. If we run into trouble, or you see sound evidence that it’s a trap, shoot. Does that sound good?”

Snufkin and Seamstress nodded.

“You alright Snufkin?” Brother Mymble asked.

“Yes.” Snufkin answered. He’d have to be.

“Alrighty then. Good luck everyone.” Brother Mymble left the room. Seamstress followed. Emil gave Snufkin a boost. “Be careful.” He warned.

Snufkin climbed out of the bathroom window. Carefully, he made his way across the roof. Brother Mymble and Emil had mounted a cannon right next to the roof overhang, hidden from any passing ships (they had tested this by tying the rowboat to some spools of thread and going out). The ammo was strategically stuffed into the gutter for easy access. Snufkin crouched down in the appropriate position and waited. Emil and Brother Mymble walked outside onto the veranda. Snufkin could see the masts of the ship towering over the house. It must have pulled close up to the house, but Snufkin didn’t need to see the rest of the ship to know that it was quite large. He fiddled with the edges of his scarf. He didn’t want to actually shoot anyone if he didn’t have to. Brother Mymble had stressed over and over again that the ammo most likely wouldn’t be lethal and that the pirates would do even worse things given the chance. Even so, Snufkin still wasn’t keen on hurting people on purpose.

“Hello!” a voice shouted. “Are you two doctors?”

“Yeah.” Brother Mymble answered. “Why do you ask?”

“One of my men is very sick!” the voice called out. “Will you come onto the ship and help him?” 

Brother Mymble and Emil exchanged glances. Snufkin knew what they were thinking. Was this a trick or not?

“What are his symptoms?” Emil yelled.

“He has a high fever and he’s been seeing things that weren’t there.” the voice replied. “Can you help him? Please?”

“How high?” Emil queried. “Have you gotten the chance to take his temperature yet.”

“112 degrees.” the voice sounded worried. “You really need to come on the ship.”

 _What?_ Snufkin frowned. That number made absolutely no sense to him. He had a vague memory of the Snork mentioning that water had a very constant boiling point of 100 degrees. If someone actually had that temperature, they’d be dead.

“In Fahrenheit?” Brother Mymble asked.

“Yes.” the voice clarified. “I have no idea what that translates to in Celsius, but as someone who knows the Western measuring system, it's definitely a high fever. Could you help him? He’s very important to the crew.”

 _Aha_ , Snufkin thought. Now that Brother Mymble had mentioned it, Snufkin had vague memories of another measuring system that was in use in a few areas in the far west. Snufkin hadn’t been there in a long time, and had certainly never bothered to learn their inefficient measuring system. 

“Are you sure?” Brother Mymble sounded concerned.

“Yes.” the voice sounded offended. “Well, that’s what the thermometer said anyway.”

“Are there any other symptoms you can think of?” Emil sounded a bit skeptical. 

“Like what?” the voice sounded almost nervous. 

“Like-” Brother Mymble started.

“Anything out of the ordinary.” Emil cut him off. “Even if you think it seems silly.”

“It’s a bad fever and he’s hallucinating.” the voice said defensively. “Look, you’d probably find out more just looking at the guy! He’s in trouble!”

Brother Mymble and Emil exchanged glances again. “Let us talk for a minute. We need to figure out the best way to treat him.”

“Alright.” the voice huffed.

Snufkin knew from the fact that Brother Mymble and Emil hadn’t immediately rushed onto the ship that they were a bit suspicious about the voice’s claims. It could be a trap. But he also knew that if they had even a shred of doubt, they would investigate themselves. They were doctors after all. 

Snufkin carefully peered around the window overhang. Maybe he could find more information, or maybe an obvious sign that this was a trick. Instantly, he felt his mouth go dry and his paws dampen with sweat. 

The ship was much, much larger than he had thought possible. One could easily fit three Moominhouses in it. Even squinting, Snufkin could barely make out the end of it. Most worryingly of all, both sides of the ship appeared to be covered in cast-iron cannons, safely nestled within the ship’s side. The makeshift cannons that Brother Mymble had painstakingly crafted would do nothing against such a behemoth.

“Goodness.” Snufkin breathed. Hopefully the ship was on their side. If not...Snufkin didn’t want to think about it.

He briefly scanned the deck again. There were some crew members there, but it was impossible to tell from where he was if they were friendly travelers or pirates. The voice talking to the two doctors appeared to belong to a mumrik.

“We can treat him if he comes on board.” Brother Mymble yelled to the ship. “We have better equipment to handle him over here.”

“Thank you so much!” the mumrik sounded relieved.

Snufkin bit his lip. It was almost useless to man the cannons, not when the ship could destroy the house in a matter of seconds. He grabbed a frying pan from the gutter. It at least would be something to defend himself with. Carefully, he crawled back up the roof. He didn’t have the slightest idea what he was going to do next, but he knew he couldn’t just let a possible trap be sprung without at least trying to stop it. It was agony, but somehow he managed to get to the window sill. Groaning with effort, he pulled himself through the window, landing on his back.

“Oof!” Snufkin winced, feeling the air leave him. He struggled to sit up again, and launched into another coughing fit. _This is never going to work_ , he thought miserably. He was still recovering from that stupid pneumonia. If the ship truly belonged to the pirates, he wasn’t going to be any help at all. What was he supposed to do? Cough on them and hope they went away?

Actually, now that he thought about it, Emil had originally debated between diagnosing Snufkin with pneumonia or whooping cough. And while both were dangerous, whooping cough had a bit more of a scare factor to it. Perhaps if Snufkin acted sick enough, he could scare the pirates into leaving them alone. 

Snufkin shook his head. It was a crazy plan that relied heavily on luck. There was no way to communicate it to the others ahead of time. But it was the only idea that he had. As far as Snufkin knew, nobody had a plan that included the current scenario. Hopefully, Brother Mymble, Emil, or Seamstress could come up with a better plan. But if not...

Gripping the frying pan, Snufkin crawled his way to the stairs. He prayed to the bobble that those weren’t the pirates down there, but if they were, he prayed that he would be brave enough to do what he had to do. 

* * *

It took Snufkin far longer than he would’ve liked, but he finally made his way to the top of the stairs. From his position, he could see most of the kitchen. The two doctors had cleared off the table and had lain an unconscious adult moomin on it.

“Why are you taking his temperature again? I already told you what it was.” the mumrik sounded annoyed. Snufkin still couldn’t see his full frame, only the tip of some steel-toed boots.

“I want to get a reading in celsius too.” Brother Mymble said. “I’m relatively certain what the conversion is, but it never hurts to double-check.”

“Alright then.” the mumrik grumbled. “You guys aren’t the type of doctors who charge by the hour, are you?”

“No.” Emil placed a stethoscope to the moomin’s chest. “Hush. I need to listen.”

Brother Mymble pulled a thermometer out of the moomin’s mouth and frowned. 

“What’s up?” Emil moved the stethoscope to a different part.

“How bad is his fever?” the mumrik briefly glanced over Brother Mymble’s shoulder. “Somewhere in the 30s…”

“I, uh, need to recalibrate this.” Brother Mymble mused. 

“Why don’t you just use my thermometer?” the mumrik sounded frustrated. “I have it right here, and I can tell you if a number is good or bad-”

“I don’t want to.” Brother Mymble left the room.

“Well,” the mumrik demanded, “don’t you know what’s wrong yet?”

“We’re doing everything we can.” Emil reassured him. “Please back away, I need to examine the patient.” 

“I suppose you guys are the doctors.” the mumrik conceded, retreating into the shadows. “By the way, it’d be useful to have one of you guys on board.”

“We’re good.” Emil answered tersely, moving to check the moomin’s blood pressure.

“I’m the first mate,” the mumrik pressed. “I could put in a good word for you two.”

“No thank you. We have a community in the northwest that we need to get back to.” Emil picked up the moomin’s arm, gently made it hover above the moomin’s face, and dropped it. The moomin’s arm fell to his side. 

Snufkin craned his neck, struggling to see further into the room, but he was simply too high to see properly.

“Moo…Mu...” the moomin on the table muttered, flicking his tail. “My kid…”

“He has a son, I think.” the mumrik explained.

“Moominlass…” the moomin moaned. 

“Moominlass.” Emil glared at the mumrik. “That doesn’t sound like a son’s name.”

“Oh, well, he must have a daughter too.” the mumrik amended.

“I thought he was one of your most important crew members.” Emil narrowed his eyes. “And you don’t even know how many children he has?”

“We just hired him.” 

“Oh?” Emil did not sound as if he was buying the story at all. “How many new people did you hire this year?”

“Oh, just him. I don’t hire a lot of people…”

“What’s his name then?”

“Uh…”

“You should be able to remember just one name.” Emil insisted. 

“Moomin.” the mumrik replied. 

Emil raised his eyebrow. Snufkin knew from hanging out with the moomins that the name Moomin could only be used for a child, as the parents took on a suffix in order to signify their parental status as soon as they had a child. Moomins were a very family-oriented species. 

“I see.” Emil said.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” the mumrik asked agitatedly. 

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to—AH!” Emil was suddenly yanked away from the table. 

“Emil!” Brother Mymble yelled, running around the corner.

Seamstress screamed. 

Snufkin felt his heart jump into his throat.

“What’s going on in here?” a deeper voice bellowed. “I want to know what’s taking so long!”

“ _You_.” Brother Mymble spat venomously. Snufkin could tell just from his reaction that the deeper voice had to belong to the infamous Blackstar. He had never heard Brother Mymble speak with such disdain in his voice before.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me.” Blackstar crowed. 

“Sir! They’re onto us!” the mumrik informed him.

“Yes Sturgis, I can see that.” Blackstar remarked drily. 

“Let Emil go!” Brother Mymble demanded. 

“Hm….no.” Sturgis quipped. 

“We could use a doctor. For some reason they’re in short supply for us. And you guys happen to be doctors.” Blackstar reasoned.

“W-what kind of logic is that?” Seamstress sputtered. 

“Eh.” Sturgis said indifferently. “There’s two of you and three options. One, we take Emil, you give us that moomin carpenter back, and we let you go on your way.”

“Why do you guys need a carpenter?” Brother Mymble asked.

“Stalling for time are we?” Blackstar mocked him. “So he can fix our ship, of course. Eventually, the water level is going to drop too low for us to keep sailing like this, and we’re going to need to make some modifications.”

“N-no.” Emil choked out. Sturgis came around the corner, and Snufkin could see the source of Emil’s speaking difficulties. A knife to his throat. Snufkin felt faint.

“There’s always options B and C. And neither of them are good for your friend here.” Sturgis threatened, pushing the knife harder against Emil’s neck. 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Brother Mymble held his hands out. “Take it easy!”

“What’s it gonna be?” Blackstar asked. He took a few steps forward, crossing in front of the staircase.

The sight of Blackstar sent a jolt through Snufkin. If there was any time to do his plan, it was now. He sat up, placing the pan on his lap and his feet on the first stair. Hopefully, Little My’s trick would work here. Snufkin took a breath as deep as his lungs would allow and lifted his legs so that they were perpendicular to the staircase railing.

 _Thump, thump, thump_. Snufkin’s legs burned as gravity slid him down the stairs. His rump painfully smacked the ground as he landed right in front of Blackstar. The coughing fit started soon after, just as Snufkin had planned.

“Oh?” Blackstar kneeled down. Snufkin took a swing at him with the frying pan, but Blackstar effortlessly knocked it away and seized Snufkin by his collar. “What’s this?”

“Snufkin!” Brother Mymble screamed.

“Put him down, you brute!” Seamstress demanded.

The coughing stopped. _Oh no_ , Snufkin thought. Blackstar pulled Snufkin closer to his face, scrutinizing him as one would an egg from the grocer’s. Snufkin had no idea what creature Blackstar was. Blackstar had surprisingly hairless paws, yet he had a scruff of matted black fur covering his face. Snufkin could make out discarded bits of food in the fur. Blackstar’s teeth were yellowed and jagged, and his breath smelled like a trash can that had been unattended for a month. Snufkin wrinkled his nose. It was making his eyes water. Thankfully, he reflexively started to cough again. He took special care not to cover his mouth. 

“Eugh!” Blackstar thrust Snufkin away from him so fast that he got whiplash. “I hate it when people spit on me!”

“ _Hack, hack, whoop!_ " Snufkin mentally cheered as the _whoop_ left his lungs. _Finally!_

“What kind of noise was that?” Blackstar snorted.

“Whooping cough.” Snufkin informed him, trying to seem as weak and feeble as possible. _Please let this work_...

“Put him down sir!” Sturgis panicked. 

“I don’t think I’ve had that yet.” Blackstar mused.

“Well, then definitely put him down!” Sturgis begged. 

“A cough can’t be that dangerous.” Blackstar scoffed.

“I suppose,” Sturgis regained his composure, “if he’s far enough in, he wouldn’t be contagious anymore. Um...forgive me for freaking out sir.”

“I suppose you’re forgiven.” Blackstar brought Snufkin back up to his face. Snufkin looked right back into his beady black eyes. Sadly, he couldn’t do anything too drastic, not if he wanted to convince Blackstar and Sturgis that he was still in the early stages of whooping cough.

“Contagious.” Emil helpfully rasped.

“Pertussis, or whooping cough as most people know it, is very contagious.” Brother Mymble warned. “And it’s not just a cough. It can cause you to cough so hard that you vomit or crack a rib, feel absolutely exhausted, and worst of all, have difficulty breathing, which is generally what kills you.”

“It’s just a kid illness though, isn’t it?” Blackstar shook Snufkin a little bit more, using him to illustrate his point. 

Snufkin did his level best to let himself limply swing in Blackstar’s grip, but all he really wanted to do was smack the pirate right in his crooked teeth. 

“Not necessarily. My parents contracted...” Sturgis’s eyes widened as he glanced at Emil. “You’ve been treating him, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.” Emil gasped.

Sturgis thrust Emil away from him. “Sir, we should leave.”

“Hang on!” Blackstar protested. “We still need our carpenter back! And you were just talking about how useful a doctor would be!”

“We’ve both been working with that moomin.” Brother Mymble pointed out. “We could’ve easily infected him.”

“Sir, whooping cough would be a disaster for the ship.” Sturgis urged him. “Please put that mumrik down.”

“A doctor could fix that.” Blackstar pointed out. “Although, I wish you guys had warned us that this guy,” Blackstar shook Snufkin again, “had such a viral disease!”

“Say…” Sturgis’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that a violation of the Moomincratic Oath?”

Snufkin quickly started to cough without covering it again. Sturgis appeared to be the brains behind the pirate’s operations. The less time he spent thinking the situation through, the better.

“Gross!” Blackstar put his hand over Snufkin’s mouth, squeezing his cheeks to get a better grip.

“What are you doing?” Sturgis bellowed.

“Leave him alone!” Brother Mymble demanded.

Snufkin tried to breath, but it was near impossible to do so with Blackstar’s cold, leathery fingers in the way. He tried to bite them, but they were so slippery it was hard to find purchase.

“Honestly, what are they teaching kids these days?” Blackstar complained. “Everyone knows that if you cough, you cover your mouth! I failed Kindergarten twice and I know that!”

As Blackstar griped about the state of modern education, his grip on Snufkin’s face started to loosen. Snufkin took his chance and clamped down hard. It tasted like his paw pads, but softer.

“Ouch!” Blackstar flung Snufkin to the floor in surprise. 

Brother Mymble instantly ran over to Snufkin and scooped him up. Seamstress ran toward the kitchen. 

“You bit me, you little cretin!” Blackstar advanced threateningly towards them. “Nobody gets to do that to the Great Pirate Blackstar!”

“Hiyah!” Seamstress threw a knife directly at Blackstar, missing him by a hair. It landed in the wood behind him with a solid _thump_.

“What in the world woman!” Blackstar exclaimed. 

“Go away!” Seamstress commanded. 

“Where did you…” Blackstar stammered.

“She’s a woman with access to a kitchen!” Sturgis panicked. “That’s where all the knives are! And she definitely knows how to use them!”

Seamstress threw another knife, just to make a point.

“We need to get out of here sir!” Sturgis implored Blackstar. “I know it’s a loss, but I think staying here is worse for us.”

“I suppose we can exact our revenge with our ship.” Blackstar conceded. “You’ll regret this!” he added, shaking his fist as he and Sturgis made a hasty retreat out the door.

Seamstress threw another knife for good measure.

“Are you alright?” Snufkin could feel Brother Mymble trembling.

Brother Mymble squeezed Snufkin so hard that he thought his ribs would crack.

“Okay, they’re gone now.” Emil horsley announced.

To Snufkin’s utter shock, the moomin on the table sat up. “I’m so sorry.” He apologized. “I never thought…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Emil told him brusquely. 

Snufkin turned to the moomin. “Wait, were you faking being ill?”

“The pirates wanted me to do some things, and I figured this was the best way to not comply.” the moomin turned to Emil. “I assume doctor that you saw right through my charade?”

“112 degrees Fahrenheit is about 44 degrees Celsius.” Emil explained. “If your temperature had really been that high, you would be having symptoms of organ failure, which would have been obvious and definitely mentioned when we were talking with Sturgis.

“I’m not really that familiar with the western measurement system.” the moomin said. “I just stuck the thermometer in the candle flame to raise the temperature, and crossed my fingers that it would show a reasonable one.”

“We see it all the time, due to the fact that—”

 _BOOM!_ An iron cannonball burst through the siding, landing directly at the foot of the stairs.

“The cannons!” Brother Mymble squeaked fearfully. “We forgot about the cannons!” He griped Snufkin even tighter than before.

“I was hoping they wouldn’t use those.” Seamstress lamented. “Good thing you told me to put the guitar in—”

 _BOOM!_ The next cannonball hit the side of the house, demolishing Seamstress’s cupboards.

“We need to leave. Now.” Emil decided.

“No.” Snufkin could feel his heart start to pound. “No.”

“ _It_ -it’ll be alright.” Brother Mymble was struggling to keep the fear out of his voice. 

“Not again.” Snufkin was shaking uncontrollably now. “I can’t—”

 _BOOM!_ Snufkin didn’t see where this one hit, but he heard a distinctive pop sound. Something was very wrong.

“This way!” Emil directed the moomin towards the back door. Seamstress quickly followed. 

“It’s going to be a better situation that last time!” Brother Mymble promised. “We’ll have food, water…”

“I-I-I...” Snufkin’s face started to fill with tears. His chest felt like it was about to explode. All rational thought said that it was time to go, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop shaking.

 _BOOM!_ Snufkin heard some cracking noises out by the veranda. 

“Breath.” Brother Mymble gingerly stood up, still holding Snufkin. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Snufkin did as he was told. It did help, a little.

_BOOM!_

“That’s the spirit!” Brother Mymble encouraged him. “I’m going to start walking towards the boat now, okay?”

Snufkin nodded. He focused on the breathing exercise that he had been given. _In, out. In, out. Don’t think about-_

 _BOOM!_ The house shook violently. Brother Mymble stumbled a bit, but managed to regain his footing. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He repeated as he quickly picked up the pace. Snufkin tried to ignore the sound of running water. They were almost there— 

_BOOM!_ The house tipped violently, and Brother Mymble completely lost his balance. Snufkin tumbled out of his arms.

“What’s taking you guys so—” Seamstress gasped.

Snufkin’s eyes widened in horror. Brother Mymble was lying on the floor, unconscious. “I-I-I…” The crunching pain in Snufkin’s chest bubbled up again.

Seamstress flung Snufkin over one shoulder and grasped Brother Mymble under his arms. She quickly drug him to the boat.

“What happened?” Emil grilled them.

“Brother Mymble tripped and hit his head.” Seamstress handed Snufkin over to Emil, who immediately put him in the moomin’s lap. Snufkin was too shell-shocked to protest, even though his entire body was starting to tremble even faster. He couldn’t get on, he just couldn’t. There was a pressure building in his throat, threatening to explode out of him.

 _BOOM!_ Water began to seep around Seamstress's ankles. She helped to hoist Brother Mymble into the boat, and then jumped in herself. Emil cut the rope and pushed off from the side of the house with an oar.

“To the woods!” Seamstress directed Emil.

“Will do.” Emil paddled for the line of trees, opting to paddle downstream in order to go faster.

Snufkin watched helplessly as the boat drifted past the house. The booming of the cannons seemed to fade to the background as he watched the house sinking. The river was too shallow to bury the entire house, so it sat there, the roof sticking out. The pirates were still shooting the roof, sending siding flying everywhere. 

Snufkin felt his breath start to hitch. He glanced at the house, at the open river, and at Brother Mymble. The shaking reached a fever pitch, and the tears fell even faster than before.

Eventually, they hit the cover of the woods. Emil tied the boat to the nearest tree.

“Are you alright kid?” the moomin asked. 

Snufkin shook his head.

“What is it? Emil queried, placing a hand on the mumrik’s shoulder. 

“I-I-I-I-I-I…” The bubbling feeling exploded out of his throat. Snufkin put his head between his legs and started to scream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -As an America, I recognize that the imperial system is strange, but I will stand by Fahrenheit. I get to spend less time in the negative temperatures that way.  
> -My tumblr is @the-walking-pie, if you haven't seen it yet. Not sure if I'm tumbling correctly, but eh.


	13. About A Surprise Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning before you start: this is a very long chapter (16 pages in Google Docs and over 7,000 words). I considered making it two chapters, but by the time that thought occurred to me, I was in so deep (like the last third or so) I decided to just leave them together. Also I really like the chapter title for this one. Haha.  
> Also, I don't know how concussions work. Already wrote it in the tags, but I am not a doctor.  
> And finally, thank you guys so much for your continued support! I love you all. :)

Snufkin’s heart pounded against his chest, and his paws shook. Pure, unrefined terror wracked his body as he continued wailing. This was not how he intended to die.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Emil gently coached him, stroking his back.

Snufkin tried to do as he was told, but his breath continued to come out in hitched gasps instead.

“That’s it. Keep going.” Emil encouraged him.

“W-what...what’s happening?” Snufkin struggled to speak.

“It’s a panic attack.” Emil informed him. 

“This?” Snufkin gestured to himself. He’d seen some people say that they’d had panic attacks before, and they’d seemed fine from the outside. He was sure this was different, he was going to die. 

“I’m sure you’ve had to run from a dangerous situation before, right?” Emil asked.

Snufkin nodded.

“Sometimes, the body decides to turn on its defense mechanisms when you’re not in danger.” Emil explained. “Your heart is racing and your body is shaking because those are the same reactions you’d have to getting in a fight or trying to catch a boat before it left. It’s just choosing to do these reactions in a different situation than it normally would. Does that make sense?”

Snufkin nodded again. The urge to scream had greatly died down, but his body wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Okay. You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Emil grabbed his medical kit. “I need to get over to Brother Mymble.”

Snufkin obediently moved aside as Emil moved past him. Seamstress took Emil’s place and continued to rub his back in a soothing motion. Snufkin just kept focusing on the breathing. _In, out. In, out. In_ …

It seemed to take years before Emil finished examining Brother Mymble. Snufkin had managed to get his breathing under control, but his heart was still thumping and his paws were still shaking.

“It’s just a mild concussion.” Emil announced. “He’s going to have a wicked headache and he’ll need several days of bed rest. He should be conscious soon.” Emil immediately started to bandage him. 

Everyone sighed in relief. 

“I should’ve…” Snufkin trailed off. He felt partially responsible for Brother Mymble’s injury. If only he hadn’t had that moment of panic when they were evacuating the house!

“It’s not your fault.” Emil reassured him, knotting the bandage. “Brother Mymble was doing his job, and that’s that. He followed the Moomincratic Oath.”

“Mm.” Snufkin nodded again, but the guilt didn’t leave him. Hopefully, he’d feel better once Brother Mymble had woken up. 

“You guys saved my life.” the moomin who they had rescued spoke up. “I know you’d say it’s just part of your oath, but I still can’t possibly thank you all enough.”

“It was our pleasure.” Seamstress smiled. 

“I’m Moomindad, and I’m from Rivermouth.” the moomin introduced himself. “And you guys are…?”

Everyone went around and introduced themselves.

“My name is Seamstress. I’m from Hidden Valley.” Seamstress greeted him.

“I took my daughter strawberry picking there once.” Moomindad smiled. “Those were the best strawberries I’ve ever had.”

“My name is Emil, and this is Brother Mymble.” Emil gestured to his unconscious figure. “We’re both doctors from the same practice over in Dam Valley.”

“The source of Rivermouth’s river.” Moomindad said. 

“At least it used to be.” Emil told him sadly.

“Oh. I guess that’s where the flood waters came from.” Moomindad sighed. “At least I built some piers. We were pretty okay as a town, at least until the pirates showed up.”

“Snufkin.” Snufkin waved politely. His paws were still trembling.

“Where are you from?” Moomindad asked him.

Snufkin shrugged. His standard answer was usually something along the lines of “I’m a vagabond,” but he wasn’t sure where Moomindad’s alliances were.

“Moominvalley.” Seamstress answered for him.

Snufkin didn’t correct her. It was as good of an answer as anything. 

“I think I’ve heard of that place before.” Moomindad stroked his chin. “I think it’s about two weeks north, isn’t it? Give or take a little?”

“I’ve never heard of Rivermouth.” Snufkin eyed Moomindad curiously. 

“It’s an unincorporated community.” Moomindad explained, “Which is part of the reason why it wouldn’t show up on a map. We mostly exist so that Deer Valley can have a way to trade without having to be too close to the water...it’s complicated. I’m pretty sure you don’t have time for half a century of politics.” 

Now that Moomindad mentioned it, he had a vague memory of some traders in an inn complaining about “Rivermouth duty.” Snufkin had never put two and two together before and realized that was an actual town. They could be a lot closer to where they needed to be then they had thought. 

“How far do you think the pirates took you from your home?” Snufkin tried not to sound too excited, mostly for Moomindad’s behalf. But Snufkin also didn’t want to get his hopes up over nothing.

“Oh, we’ve been traveling for…” he hesitated. “Three days, I want to say?”

“I-I didn’t realize we were so close.” Snufkin stammered. Three days. They were three days away from a two-week journey to Moomin’s house. Less than a month away. Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help but feel his heart leap.

“The pirates had some pretty good sails though.” Emil brought Snufkin crashing back to the real world. “I don’t know the specifics, but Brother Mymble was pretty impressed.”

“Brother Mymble also said that his guess of where we were could be quite off.” Seamstress countered. “He said that without visual clues, it was kind of hard to estimate distance without...a sextant, I think he said? Either way, it was something I didn’t keep around my house.”

Snufkin felt his spirits lift again. 

“Maybe his estimates were off.” Emil admitted. “If that’s true, that’s very good news, I like being close to Dam Valley. But now that we’re stuck in the rowboat and we can’t really go too far upstream at once because of the current, it’s still going to take us a long time.”

Snufkin sighed. Sometimes, Emil was like a wet blanket on a cold day. 

“Anyway,” Emil continued, “we should wait here for a few hours until those pirates get further south. The last thing we need is another run-in with them.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. 

“I’m not sure if it’ll make you guys feel any better, but those pirates are eventually going to run their ship aground. Had they not chosen to get greedy and raid all the villages they could, they probably would’ve made it to the sea by now.” Moomindad grinned. “As an added bonus, I ‘forgot’ to tell them that the course they had plotted would take them straight to a police inspector training center. The largest in the area, as a matter of fact. They’ll get their karma, in due time.”

Snufkin snorted. Yes, yes they would.

“I assume you guys have quite the story to tell about how you all met.” Moomindad lounged back in his part of the rowboat, accidentally knocking a few jars down. “Since we’re going to be here for awhile, I’d like to hear it.” 

Emil, Seamstress, and Snufkin looked at each other. Emil cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I should be the one to start. It all began when Brother Mymble and I received news of a sick patient in the middle of the storm…”

* * *

Moomin and the others took the stranger to Moominhouse. Moominmamma would know what to do. She always did.

Patch was relatively quiet on the way over. He was constantly looking around at everything, as if hoping that something would appear familiar to him. “I feel as if I passed through here before, but I didn’t stop.” he mused. “Although, I’ve felt that way about a lot of places.”

“Don’t worry!” Moomin tried to cheer him up. “Grandma’s recipe book will have something for you!”

“It probably won’t.” Patch said mournfully. “I’ve been in a hospital for two years, and I’m _still_ missing most of my memories.”

“Oh.” Moomin felt his tail droop.

“Well, what do you remember?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“Big things, like how to find food and travel. A few little things, like some songs and some plays. Some ghosts, a few random memories. And how to walk and talk, obviously. It’s like my brain is a jigsaw puzzle, and I know that I have all the pieces, but when I try to make them fit it doesn’t make any sense.” Patch furrowed his brow. “Most of what I know for certain is in a letter I was writing to my mother. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to put an address on it before my accident.”

“What did the letter say?” Sniff asked.

“Oh. Well…” Patch seemed to become particularly interested in his walking stick. “Just the usual.”

Moomin didn’t think Patch was telling the entire truth, but he didn’t push it. Letters were a very private matter.

“Anyway, I signed the letter, that’s why I’m pretty sure of my name.” Patch continued. “It’s dated three years back instead of two though, which is very strange. I still have no idea what happened during that one year. The Center found me with a tourniquet on the first day of spring, so they’re guessing that I might have gone into hibernation at some point. Still, going into hibernation for a year is still unlikely. I probably just wrote the letter and decided to never send it.”

“Your mother must be so worried.” Snorkmaiden fretted.

“Yeah.” Patch sighed.

“Do you remember anything about her?” Moomin asked.

“A few things. I-I think I remember playing the guitar for her. And having a campfire with her, and singing some more.” Patch smiled faintly. “She was very happy in both instances, and she was happily clapping along to both songs. Music-based memories seem to be my strongest memories. Otherwise…” He shook his head. “How close are we to your house?”

“Right over this hill.” Moomin pointed at the red roof. He couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to not be certain who his mother was. He couldn’t imagine a life without Moominmamma.

“That is a well-built house.” Patch whistled.

“My father built it.” Moomin said proudly. “It’s withstood floods, hurricanes, plants growing out of it, several fires…”

“Do you remember your father?” Sniff interrupted.

“Ha!” Patch snorted. “The irony is, I recall something that I never had better than I remember something that I most definitely had.”

“So you don’t have a dad?”

“No. I have no clue what he looks like, but I remember enough about him to get the feeling that I don’t need to know.” Patch scoffed. “My mother on the other hand…if my memory serves me, she might be worth missing.” He sighed again. “Let’s just go see Moominmamma. Hopefully she can help me.”

Moomin threw open the door. “Moominmamma?” he called. “We ran into someone who needs your help.”

“It smells like fish in here. And that is a lot of food.” Patch commented under his breath.

Moominpappa was sitting at the kitchen table, re-stringing his line. “She’s out right now.” he set down his fishing pole, “but I’m sure I can help with whatever you need.” 

“Well sir, I’ve lost almost all of my memories.” Patch explained bluntly. “Moomin here mentioned something about a book of recipes, and I was hoping that would help me.”

“Oh my.” Moominpappa’s eyes widened. “That does sound like a problem for Moominmamma.”

“Where is she?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“I’m not entirely certain.” Moominpappa frowned. “She’s with Mymble because...but I don’t know where they’re at.”

“We need to go look for her!” Moomin decided. “This is an emergency!”

“They’re discussing something important.” Moominpappa hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” 

“Well, I can at least look through the book for her.” Snorkmaiden decided. “Where is it?”

“In the top drawer next to the silverware drawer, I believe.” Moominpapa guessed. He turned to Patch. “Hopefully we can still help you for now, even though Moominmamma’s out.”

“It’s alright.” Patch reassured him. “I’ve been without my memories for this long. A few more hours won’t make that much of a difference.” He started to sway a bit. “Actually, my leg’s been acting up for awhile now, do you mind if I sit down?”

Moomin quickly pulled out a chair for him.

“Thank you.” Patch gratefully sat down, leaning his cane on the table. “I just need to make some adjustments…” he rolled up the left leg of his trousers to reveal a pair of thick, wooden boards knotted together.

“You have a peg leg!” Sniff blurted out. 

“Yeah…” Patch narrowed his eyes. “So what?”

“I-er-nothing.” Sniff blushed.

“That’s what I thought.” Patch fiddled with the strings up by where his kneecap met his thigh. Or rather, where the kneecap would’ve been if he still had one. “Alright, there we go. Stupid thing just _loves_ breaking on me at the most annoying times. It’s about as reliable as an understudy.”

“My brother’s an inventor. I’m sure he can help you make a better one!” Snorkmaiden offered.

“Really?” Patch’s face lit up. 

“I’m certain!” Snorkmaiden promised.

“Well, that’d be great!” Patch grinned. “The Center originally gave me a better prosthetic, but I lost it running away from an angry mob over by Mountainview. It’s a town up north, slightly south of where the Rehabilitation Center was...anyway. I had to crawl around the forest floor for _three days_ before I found enough material to make a new one.”

“Wow!” Sniff was absolutely awed. 

Moomin had a slight suspicion that Patch was exaggerating a bit, but he was too polite to say so. It was still an incredible story nonetheless. Besides, a lot of Snufkin’s stories sounded quite dubious as well, even though they were always true.

“What were you doing in the north?” Moominpappa asked. 

“I don’t remember.” Patch’s smile faltered. “Whatever it was, my mother was mad about it.”

“Why would your mother be mad at you?” Moomin had never seen his mother angry about anything or anyone before. Not even Stinky managed to rile her up. He didn’t know that mothers could be that way. 

Patch rummaged around his pocket. He silently pulled out an envelope. “Well,” he said, carefully pulling out a worn piece of paper, “I suppose I should let the letter speak for itself.”

Moomin glanced over Patch’s shoulder, trying to discern the cramped scrawl among the faded ink and torn parchment:

_Mother,_

_I know that you are disappointed with me. Our argument before I left proved as much. You see me as a child, immature and incapable of making my own choices. But I know what I’m doing; I’m both more familiar about the real world than you are and more experienced in it. You mean well, but I resent the fact that you chose time and time again to ignore my opinions. You’re lucky to be getting any letters at all this year. In fact, I’m not even sure if I want to come back._

_Hopefully, my anger abates before the season ends, but I cannot guarantee that. If you don't see me come spring, you will know why._

_I hope you are well._

_Your son,_

_Patch_

“Patch…” Moomin wanted to say something reassuring, but he was at a loss for words. 

“I know. I sound like an a-” Patch glanced at Moomin, Sniff, and Snorkmaiden, “-er, a terrible person.”

“You don’t know that!” Moomin countered.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Patch said miserably. “I don’t. Maybe I’ve always been as terrible as I was in that letter. I don’t even remember what I did that got her so mad. Or why I got mad at her back.”

“That’s terrible!” Snorkmaiden exclaimed.

“Part of me wonders,” Patch swallowed, “part of me thinks that I’ve done something so bad that my mother doesn’t love me anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Moominpappa reassured him.

“How would you know?” Patch fired back. “I mean, it’s nice of you to think that, but you don’t know me either! Heck, you could’ve just invited a serial killer in here for all you know!”

“Well,” Sniff reasoned, “do you remember killing anyone?”

“No, but in case you hadn’t already noticed,” Patch whipped off his hat and angrily pointed to his scar, “my memory’s been a _bit unreliable_ as of late.”

“Calm down Patch.” Moominpappa tried to placate him.

“Well, it’s true!” Patch huffed. “And besides, deep down, you’re all wondering what I’ve done anyway. All mumriks do is hurt people and steal from people and destroy lives—”

“Snufkin never did.” Moomin declared fervorously. He didn’t understand why Patch would say such bad things about his kind. Even though Snufkin had no way of knowing that this conversation ever happened (unless he was watching from the beyond), Moomin still felt the urge to defend him. 

“Snufkin?” Patch blinked a few times. “You keep mentioning him, and I think you asked me if I knew him. Is that another mumrik?”

“He was a very dear friend of ours.” Moominpappa told Patch. “He was a kindhearted soul who loved helping others. But like all mumriks, he always felt restless. He’d leave here at the end of every fall, but he’d return at the start of every spring.”

“He never hurt anybody!” Moomin added. “The worst he ever did was prank some park keepers and steal a watermelon! And that wasn’t even at the same time!” 

“I, well...” Patch clenched his head. “It’s good that he-he’s like that.”

“Are you alright?” Moomin was concerned. Had his yelling set off Patch’s headache?

“I…” Patch massaged his temples. “Don’t worry. It’s just a few memories coming in at the same time. But I can’t make sense of them…”

“Does that happen a lot?” Snorkmaiden frowned. “I ran across a cure for headaches, although I’m not really finding anything on recovering lost memories…”

“As long as they...don’t make me dizzy.” Patch blinked a few times and shook his head. “Okay, I think they’re done. Phew. I’ve been having a lot of those since I’ve been traveling. The Center would give me medicine, which would take away the pain, but it always made me throw up too.” 

“What did you remember?” Sniff asked.

“Parties.” Patch answered vaguely. “Specifically, a party where I sang a song on the guitar. I don’t remember what it was called though. There were lots of mumriks there...but the people at the Center always said that…” He groaned in frustration.

Moominpappa furrowed his brows. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Okay, I guess.” Patch shrugged.

“You keep mentioning the Center.” Moominpappa said. “What is that?”

“The Rehabilitation Center.” Patch explained. “Y’know, a place where people recover from grievous injuries that they have occurred. In my case, a traumatic brain injury and the bottom half of a leg that was so badly fractured and frostbitten that they had to hack it off.” Patch sighed. “I was so badly injured the center people didn’t want me to leave. They had to teach me how to walk again, and then once I got the hang of that, they still wouldn’t let me leave because they said I had no family to go home to.”

“But you said you had a mother!” Sniff reminded him. “You did have a family somewhere!” 

Patch started to laugh. And then he laughed harder.

“What’s funny about that?” Sniff was bewildered. 

“Maybe I’m deluding myself. I want that letter to be true so badly.” Patch confessed. “But I remember my mother being a hemulen, and according to the Center, that would never happen.”

“You were adopted then!” Snorkmaiden countered. 

“Well yeah, that would have to be the only answer.” Patch rolled his eyes. “I at least remember how basic biology works. But the Center maintains that rule-loving hemulens would never adopt a lawless thug of a mumrik like me.”

“Then why did you address that letter to your mother?” Snorkmaiden remained unconvinced. “You would’ve only done that if you had one, right?”

“In some orphanages, the head matron is referred to as a mother.” Patch explained. “Some of the memories I have point to her being an actual mother, and others are less clear, but...I just don’t know.”

“What does your heart tell you?” Snorkmaiden asked. 

“That she is my mother. But nobody seems to think that’s possible…” Patch rubbed his eyes. “That’s why I broke out of the Center. My head was saying one thing, but my heart won’t give up on the idea that she’s a real person. I just…” Patch put his face into his paws.

Moomin watched as Patch’s shoulder’s shook. He couldn’t even imagine not having a mother, let alone not even being sure if he had one. He tried to place a comforting paw on his shoulder, but Patch shrugged it off.

“Patch,” Moominpappa said slowly, “I grew up in an orphanage. Most orphans that I’ve met from this area referred to their head matron as the principal. I don’t know what they do in the north, but I’ve never heard of anyone being forced to call the matron their mother.”

“Really?” Patch lifted his head.

“Yes.” Moominpappa nodded.

“But I’ve done something bad.” Patch pointed to the beginning of his letter. “She’s disappointed in me. What if I’m doing all of this for nothing?”

“Patch…” Moominpappa began.

“I hate to say it, but you still don’t know if I’m a wanted ax murderer or something.” Patch reminded him. “All mumriks are bad.”

“Even if you were an ax murderer, which I doubt you were, I’m sure you would’ve done it for a good reason.” Moominpappa decided. “But why are you so certain that you did something bad?” 

“Well…” Patch’s eyes widened. “I guess...I don’t really have a lot of memories about my fellow mumriks.” he confessed. “I mean, I know a few faces and I know a few names, but none of them match up into anything coherent. And the Center said...well, it doesn’t matter what they said. The only mumrik I really remember is my father, and he…” Patch glanced around, “well, he did things that I can’t really talk about but were really bad, like what the Center said. But I also remember picnics, and campfires, and a sense of belonging and calm that I haven’t felt in a long time. Is that because I enjoyed causing chaos with them? I mean, I wouldn’t hurt anybody now, but I also have memories of running from the police...”

“Snufkin’s run from the police before!” Moomin interjected. “And the worst thing he’s ever done is steal a watermelon from an open field!”

“It’s not really stealing if you do it from an open field.” Patch chuckled. “That’s not the worst thing ever. Did he get away with it?”

“No.” Moomin sighed. “He had to dig his way out of jail with a can opener.”

“Really?” Patch’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing!”

“Patch, I grant you that there are a few outliers, but most mumriks are more like Snufkin.” Moominpappa gently told him. “It sounds like a lot of the ideas that the Center has about mumriks are wrong. Mumriks dislike authority and the idea that things can belong to somebody, that’s all. They don’t want to hurt anyone with their actions.”

“I believe you.” Patch said, although his face still held a trace of doubt. The Center’s propaganda must have really stuck with him. He looked thoughtfully at Moominpappa. “Do you think I can meet this Snufkin? He might have heard about me on the grapevine, even if we've never met. And it would be nice to finally talk to someone like me after all these years.”

Moomin felt his heart drop.

“Snufkin passed away in a flood right before the start of spring.” Moominpapa bowed his head. “There was an early morning snow melt, and then the dam broke and took him with it.”

“Oh.” Patch bit his lip. “I assumed...I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a friend isn’t something anyone should have to go through.”

_He was more than a friend_ , Moomin thought to himself, but he had no idea how to convey that to Patch. If anything, Snufkin was closer to a brother, but even that word didn’t feel quite right.

“Is there any way that I can visit his grave?” Patch requested. “I don’t have anything to give him, but for whatever reason, I get the idea that wildflowers will be enough.”

“Snufkin was never into things, but he always loved wildflowers,” Moominpappa confirmed Patch’s guess. “We don’t have his grave ready for him yet though—”

“Yet?” Sniff asked.

“Yet?” Moomin repeated. “Yet?”

“Well…” Moominpappa hesitated.

“Are you saying that he’s going to get a grave?” Moomin pressed. “Where? When?” His father’s hesitation was scaring him, and he wasn’t sure why.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Little My came rushing in, out of breath. 

“What happened?” Snorkmaiden exclaimed, confused.

“You have to stop them!” Little My turned to Moominpappa. “They’re planning a funeral for Snufkin!”

"Funeral?" Moomin squeaked. 

“They’re?” Sniff asked.

“My mother and Moominmamma, of course!” Little My glared at Moominpappa. “What are you waiting for? Get going!”

“Little My…” Moominpappa’s face twisted in pain. “He’s gone, and it’s been a while. It’s about time…”

“Mamma’s planning a funeral for Snufkin?” Moomin should’ve known this would happen eventually, but he still felt blindsided by it. Why hadn’t either of his parents bothered to tell him first?

“We don’t know that for sure! We haven’t seen his body yet!” Little My countered. “When I found out from Snork that he was dead, I had assumed that somebody had at least found his body! Heck, we haven’t even had a search party out for him!”

“Little My…”

“When my brother went missing in a flood, we searched for weeks! Mother hardly ever slept! And then we gave up and held the funeral!” 

“Little My, I-I...” Moominpappa stuttered. 

“Do you guys even care?” Little My cut Moominpappa off. “Or are you in a hurry to forget him too?”

“No we’re not.” Moominpappa’s voice shook.

“Then why aren’t we looking for him!” Little My shouted.

“You weren’t at the site of the dam collapse!” Moominpappa blurted out. “The destruction, the water...he was right in front of that and took it full blast. His stuff was found, and the general consensus was that anyone on the road anywhere near the overpass would’ve been killed on impact. I want to believe that he’s, like you do, but...but…” 

“But?” Little My challenged. 

Moominpappa put his head in his hands. Moomin realized he was crying.

Little My’s face softened. “We still need to look for him.” She repeated. “At least...at least he wouldn’t be alone then. Not like…” She sniffed. “Not _like-”_ her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Not like Nuuskamuikkunen…” 

Snorkmaiden went over to comfort Moominpappa. Moomin snapped out of his stupor and joined her. He had never seen his father cry before.

“I’m sorry.” Little My choked out. 

Little My apologizing scared Moomin almost as much as his pappa’s crying. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Moominpappa lifted his head out of his arms. His eyes were still wet with tears. “You didn’t know. It makes sense that you’d be angry.”

Little My’s eyes welled with tears. 

“Come here.” Moominpappa gestured right beside him. Little My ran over to him and buried her face into his shoulder.

“Um…is there anything I can do to help?” Patch asked awkwardly. “I remember a few mumrik songs. And I play the guitar.” Patch pulled a guitar pick from his pocket. “I don’t have the guitar anymore, but I don’t think I’ve forgotten that much.”

“Who are you?” Little My eyed him suspiciously. 

“Patch. Hit my head, and now I have amnesia and I’m a very confused mumrik. Nice to meet you.”

“Did you know Snufkin?” Little My asked curiously.

“No,” Patch told her sadly, “but I wish I’d gotten the chance to meet him. He sounded like a wonderful person.”

Little My simply nodded in agreement. There was nothing else to say. 

Moominmamma entered the house, followed by Mymble. “I’m sure you all have a lot of questions.”

“You could say that.” Little My agreed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell any of you what was going on.” Moominmamma apologized.

“It was partially my fault too.” Moominpappa admitted. “I should’ve—”

“What’s done is done dear.” Moominmamma gave him a kiss on the cheek and moved to the fridge.

Moomin fidgeted with his tail. He knew both of his parents had his best interests in mind, and he could forgive them for that, but he was still annoyed that they had tried to leave him out of the loop yet again.

“Here you all go.” Moominmamma pulled out a tin of cookies. She passed them out (Patch looked quite bemused to be getting one) and sat down at the table. 

“Moominmamma and I have been talking,” Mymble explained. “And we’ve started to make the funeral arrangements for Snufkin, as I’m sure Little My has already told you. 

Everybody nodded. It may have come as a shock that the funeral was being planned, but it wasn’t totally unexpected. They all knew deep down that eventually, Snufkin would have to be given his eternal resting place and that they would have to accept the permanence of it. 

“So.” Mymble sat down and folded her paws in front of her. “Moominmamma and I were thinking…”

* * *

It took most of the afternoon to explain the entire story to Moomindad. Periodically, Emil would wake Brother Mymble up and ask him a few questions. Emil referred to those questions as “concussion checks.” Brother Mymble would seem to be vaguely aware of what was going on, but then he would say, “I’m tired” and then go back to sleep. He didn’t seem to have a complete recollection of the day’s events either. 

When Snufkin finally finished the narrative, Moomindad was absolutely gobsmacked.

“Let me get this straight.” Moomindad turned to Snufkin. “You endured the initial wave from the dam collapse which, mind you, was strong enough to topple trees?”

Snufkin nodded. He supposed the whole thing did sound rather unbelievable, now that he thought about it.

“And then you two,” Moomindad gestured to Emil and Brother Mymble, “somehow managed to find him in the middle of the storm? Not to mention successfully navigate a rowboat even after losing the paddles?”

“Brother Mymble had to swim in all of that.” Emil added. “I still can’t believe he managed it.”

“And then you all survived for about two months on nothing but seaweed and bugs and an occasional canned jar of food?” Moomindad’s jaw dropped. “Amazing!”

“Fortunately, we had Snufkin to tell us what was safe to eat.” Emil smiled at Snufkin. “He taught us a bunch of other survival skills too. We owe our lives to him. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Snufkin smiled back at Emil, but his mind was somewhere else. _Had it been that long?_ It had felt like an eternity. 

“And Seamstress. You managed to somehow detach your house and give it sails so it could be a boat?” Moomindad mimicked his brain exploding. 

“Well, I did have more of a heads up that the flood was coming than these guys.” Seamstress confessed. “So the extra time helped. But I did do a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.” She smoothed her skirt self-importantly.

“I’m sorry about your house, by the way.” Moomindad apologized. 

“I was kind of hoping that Patch would have a house to come back to, but now…” Seamstress sighed. “To be honest, there probably isn’t even a town there anymore. But at the end of the day, there are things more important than my house. Like my friends. And my son’s guitar. Patch doesn’t even carry a tent, just a sleeping bag and a piece of tarp. I don’t think he’ll care about a house, especially if I lost it for a good reason. At the end of the day, him coming back to my house was a dream that I had, not one that he necessarily shared.”

In the mess of trying to escape, Snufkin had forgotten about the guitar. “May I see it?” he timidly asked. 

“Sure.” Seamstress carefully passed it over. “I didn’t know you knew how to play.”

“I’m not as good at playing the guitar as I am the harmonica,” Snufkin admitted, “but I do know a few basic tunes…” he trailed off. The guitar was much bigger than he had expected it to be. It had obviously been made for a bigger person. “Maybe…” Snufkin shifted his leg under the guitar and propped it on a jar of pickles for support. “I think I can do this.” He cleared his throat and strummed a few notes with his thumb.

_Higgley-piggely,_

_Path is so wiggly,_

_Time is past four._

_Almost dead beat_

_On tired little feet;_

_No friendly door._

“Normally, I don’t sing. Because I’m usually busy with the harmonica. So...that’s why it doesn’t sound that polished.” Snufkin could feel himself blushing. “And the guitar’s the wrong size for me…”

“That was great!” Moomindad praised him. “You have a wonderful singing voice!”

“Better than what I could’ve done!” Emil was quick to agree. 

Seamstress seemed distant. “Patch used to play that song.” She told Snufkin.

“Higgley-piggely is a common song.” Snufkin shifted uncomfortably. “Like ‘All Small Beasts’ and ‘The Together Lullaby.’”

“How about The Together Lullaby?” Seamstress requested. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Mmm…I have to be in the right mood for it. And I don’t know how to do it on the guitar anyway.” Snufkin absently plucked the guitar strings. The truth was, The Together Lullaby was a very personal song, passed down by each generation of mumriks. Snufkin didn’t even remember his parents, and he still knew the song as well as he knew his own name. He wouldn’t mind performing it for Seamstress, as she might be able to pass it on to her son someday. He’d even accept Brother Mymble and Emil hearing it. But Moomindad...he seemed like a nice guy, but they had known each other for less than a day. Snufkin didn't feel that comfortable yet. 

“Do you have another song? Like, a peppy one?” Moomindad seemed excited. “How about that ‘All Small Beasts’ song you mentioned?”

“No.” Snufkin responded.

“Why not?”

“It reminds me of Moomintroll.” Snufkin confessed without thinking. 

“Moomintroll?” Moomindad seemed _way_ too interested. “Is that your boyfriend?” 

“No.” Snufkin answered. He felt his face redden again. “Just a very close friend.”

_"I see."_ Moomindad winked. Snufkin got the feeling that he didn't "see" at all.

“‘Ow ‘bout ‘Mymble’s Kids Go ta Bed?’” Brother Mymble slurred.

“Brother Mymble!” Emil exclaimed. “How are you?”

“Take a guess.” Brother Mymble quipped. “Urgh….”

“Concussion checks. I need to do concussion checks.” Emil ran his paw through his fur. “Right. Um...”

“Brother Mymble; 23; sometime in the late spring or the early summer, we never really agreed on a date but midsummer definitely hasn’t happened yet; the middle of a frickin’ river; eight or twelve, it depends; Emil, Snufkin, Seamstress, random moomin dude; um...five on the pain scale.”

“Uh yeah, that’s all the questions I was going to ask you.” Emil said.

“Imma doctor.” Brother Mymble slurred. “I know the drill.”

“Do you remember meeting this moomin?” Emil asked.

“Nah really.” Brother Mymble frowned.

“I’m going to need to do a physical on you.” Emil sounded worried. 

“I’d be dithapointed if ya didn’t.” Brother Mymble told him. “I’m probably not thupossed to be slurrin’.”

“No you’re not.” Emil agreed. 

“Leest I have my doctor skills.” Brother Mymble grinned. “Don’ forget ta look in the eyesis.”

“I won’t.” Emil promised, chewing on his lip. 

The scene would almost be comical if it wasn’t for the fact that Brother Mymble didn’t seem to be all there. Snufkin was horrified. It was almost as if someone else had replaced him.

_“Mother Mymble had 100 kids, she had 100 kids_ .” Brother Mymble sang as Emil examined him. “ _She picked one up, threw it in bed, and then she had 99 children left to get. Mother Mymble had 99 kids, she had 99 kids. She picked on up, threw it in bed, and then she had 98 children left to get. Mother Mymble had 98 kids, she had 98 kids. She picked one up—”_

“Okay, I think that’s enough of that.” Emil gently patted him on the shoulder. 

“But I 'ad 97 verthuth left!” Brother Mymble whined.

“I think we know the song now.” Seamstress reassured him.

“Thath good.” Brother Mymble made a thumbs-up symbol with his paw.

“How long is he going to be like this?” Snufkin tried to discreetly ask.

“Thymptoms lath firm days ta weeks, or langa!” Brother Mymble proudly announced. “Ithn’t at fun?”

Snufkin shivered. He could barely understand Brother Mymble anymore.

“Can you do something?” Moomindad fidgeted with his tail in concern.

“I suspect a few things, but I can't be certain which one of those things it is.” Emil sighed. “I suppose it doesn't matter at the moment anyway. All I can do for now is recommend bed rest and give him an anti-inflammatory set of herbs.”

“Boat reth.” Brother Mymble corrected him. “Haha boat reth.”

“Sure.” Emil agreed, rummaging around in the boat for the medicine.

“I’m getting theathick.” Brother Mymble suddenly went green.

“Not in here, not in here!” Emil just barely got Brother Mymble’s head over the side in time.

“I feel better.” Brother Mymble declared, wiping his mouth. “Can I go to sleep now?”

“I’m going to wake you in about an hour.” Emil decided. “But before you go to sleep, drink this. It should help with swelling, hopefully.”

“Betta than nothin’.” Brother Mymble obediently sipped the concoction. “By the way Snufkin your nose looks like a mymble’s.” Brother Mymble informed him. “Ith kinda round.”

“I never noticed that.” Snufkin rubbed his nose self-consciously. It had never dawned on him that it was any different than anyone else’s.

“I like it.” Brother Mymble reassured him. 

“Thank you.” Snufkin said politely. 

“How about another song Snufkin!” Moomindad jubilantly suggested, trying to dispel the awkward atmosphere. 

Brother Mymble grinned mischievously. _"Mother Mymble had 97_ —”

“We’re not doing ‘Mymble’s Kids Go to Bed.’” Snufkin bluntly interrupted him. “Er, I don’t have the lung capacity for such a long song anyway.” 

“Aw...” Brother Mymble sighed and closed his eyes.

“A song would be nice.” Emil agreed. “The pirates should be far enough away now. How about I untie this boat and we drift on the current for awhile and relax to some music? To be honest, I’m getting seasick too.”

Snufkin nodded his assent. For being such a wet blanket, Emil sure knew what a good music-playing atmosphere was like. He strummed the guitar strings thoughtfully. He really wanted to play The Lonely Mountain Ballad, but he didn’t have the guitar skills for it. Besides, it worked best as a guitar-harmonica duet anyway. “Hm…” He plucked the guitar strings some more. He could play “Big Rock Candy Mountains”. He recently learned it on his trip south. A guitarist in a folk music group had seen Snufkin watching him play and taught him the song. Snufkin still couldn’t see himself switching from the harmonica to the guitar, but he still enjoyed knowing a few songs to play. He just liked music. Snufkin played a few stanzas just to get into the groove, and then he began to sing:

_In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,_

_All the cops have wooden legs,_

_And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth,_

_And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs._

_The farmers' trees are full of fruit,_

_And the barns are full of hay._

Snufkin watched as everyone began to sway to the music. Even Brother Mymble seemed to relax. Things may be dire, but as a wise stranger he had passed on the road had once said, “Music can fix anything if you just play it hard enough.”

_Oh I'm bound to go,_

_Where there ain't no snow_

_Where the rain don't fall,_

_The wind don't blow,_

_In the Big Rock Candy Mountains._

_In the Big Rock Candy Mountains—_

Snufkin felt a strange tingle go through his fingers. He stopped playing and shook his paw out.

“What’s wrong?” Seamstress asked him.

Snufkin examined his arm as the tingling sensation made its way to his elbow, and then stopped. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. Surprisingly, it felt almost comforting, like a reassuring squeeze that something good was about to happen. 

“Do you think it’s a cramp from the guitar being too big?” Emil wondered.

“Yeah.” Snufkin nodded. “Yes, that’s it.” Truthfully, Snufkin didn’t think so, he hadn’t been playing long enough to cause a cramp. It didn’t even hurt. But there was no use fretting over it now. “Anyway.” He cleared his throat and started again.

_In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,_

_The jails are made of tin,_

_And you can walk right out again,_

_As soon as you are in—_

“Look!” Moomindad shouted. “It’s a boat!”

“Oh no.” Emil grasped the oars. “It’s not the pirates, is it?”

“Can’t tell.” Moomindad’s tail lashed anxiously.

Snufkin peered over his shoulder. Behind them was a ship that appeared even larger than the pirate’s had ever been. Hopefully it was just the fact they were in a tiny rowboat that made it look so imposing.

“We should hide.” Seamstress suggested.

“No.” Snufkin stared at the ship as it drew closer. He couldn't quite explain why, but he felt that it wasn’t going to harm them. “They might be able to help us get home faster.”

“I don’t want to go through another pirate attack scenario.” Emil said firmly. “Once is enough.”

“We’re pretty small, we might escape their notice.” Snufkin reasoned. “We can get close, figure out their intentions, and then act.”

“Is it worth the risk though?” Emil countered. “If that ship acts hostile to us in any way, we’re dead.”

“We fought the pirates.” Snufkin pointed out.

“And look at where that got us.” Emil snapped back. “If it wasn’t for the fact that our meeting was inevitable and it was a now or later situation, we probably would’ve turned tail and ran.”

“That’s true…” Snufkin admitted, “...but…!” he trailed off. This was the same dilemma he had faced at the start of all of this, whether to do something dangerous or to wait two weeks. Putting their faith in a strange ship was risky. But sometimes, travelers had to take risks.

“There’s no harm in simply observing the ship from a distance.” Snufkin pressed on. “If you have any doubt about the ship, any whatsoever, we can just leave it be. Let it go by.”

“I don’t know…” Emil hesitated. “What if…”

“If we don’t even try to investigate, we’re going to spend the next how many months together wondering if that ship could’ve helped us.” Snufkin said. “I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to be stuck in a rowboat yet again, I’d like to at least know that I’ve done everything possible to avoid it.”

“That’s a reasonable point,” Emil conceded, “but I’m not sure that there’s a safe way to investigate without putting ourselves in harm’s way.”

“Hmm…” Snufkin mused. Emil had a good point. “Moomindad, how much do you know about ships? Is there a blind spot we can hang out in?”

“I mostly dealt with rowboats and houses and the like.” Moomindad shook his head. “Sorry.”

“I hate to do this,” Emil nudged Brother Mymble, “but we need an expert’s help.”

“You said I could sleep.” Brother Mymble groaned. 

“I know,” Emil said apologetically, “but we need your help. What can you tell us about that ship?”

“Woo-wee!” Brother Mymble whistled. “She rides nice. And she’s built well too.”

“That’s good to know,” Emil said, “but do you know if there’s a safe way to get up close?”

“It looks like a thip Myron would be on.” Brother Mymble sighed. “I mith him.”

“Yeah, it does.” Emil agreed wistfully. “Anyway. Do you know if there’s any way we can approach the ship without seeing it, maybe by hanging out in its blind spots?”

“Oh, they’ve already thpotted uth.” Brother Mymble yawned. “They h-awhn-have a lookout poth.”

“Well, we’re in trouble.” Seamstress threw up her hands. 

“Ith too big to navigate in the twees.” Brother Mymble informed him. “We could hide there.”

“We could hide in the trees.” Emil started to paddle towards the forest line. “I guess back to my original idea then.”

Snufkin scowled, but he had promised Emil that if he had second thoughts, they could back out of a confrontation. There was nothing to be done. 

“Anything I can do ta help?” Brother Mymble rubbed his head.

“No. Go rest now.” Emil ordered him.

“You woke me up.” Brother Mymble grumbled, but he did as he was told. 

Snufkin gazed longingly at the ship as it passed by. For some reason, maybe the size, it felt warm and bright. 

“It’s best not to dwell on possibilities that will never be. I’d stop looking.” Emil gently warned Snufkin.

“It’ll probably be the most interesting thing I’ll see for awhile.” Snufkin huffed. He had to agree with Brother Mymble, it was well built. The sails were a crisp white, and the side of the ship was a solid oak color with the name, “SM Sister Mymbles” written on it.

Wait a second…

Snufkin jabbed Brother Mymble’s shoulder with his foot. “Does the SM Sister Mymbles mean anything to you?”

“Hey….” Brother Mymble groaned.

“By my groke!” Emil exclaimed. “Are you sure that’s what it says?”

“I’m quite certain.” Snufkin glanced at Emil. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Very very very good.” Emil broke out into a wide grin. “Hey! Hello?” He called, changing his course to match the ship’s. “We’ve been stranded on a boat since the dam collapsed!”

“We’re over here!” Seamstress shouted, waving a bright piece of cloth. 

“Help us!” Moomindad yelled.

Snufkin strummed the guitar in a frenzied craze, not even bothering to string the notes into a coherent song. The more noise, the better. 

A mymble man with long red hair peered over the side. Upon spotting the boat, he waved happily. 

“Myron!” Emil cried. “Praise the booble!”

“Booble be praised!” Seamstress dabbed at her eyes.

“Wait, the Sm thithter Mymbleth…” Brother Mymble’s eyes lit up. “My brother named that boat!”

“You’re brother’s on it.” Emil happily informed him.

“He is?” Brother Mymble’s eyes filled up with tears. 

“Yeah.” Emil squeezed Brother Mymble’s paw. “He is.”

Myron threw a rope over to them. As Snufkin caught it and knotted it to the rowboat, it started to dawn on him. They were being rescued. Not just that, but they were being rescued by Brother Mymble’s younger brother. Somehow, fate was still on their side. 

_They were saved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would a long chapter be without some long author's notes! :D  
> -The 90s show uses the term principal to describe the orphanage matron while the book uses auntie. Although, it only starts calling her that towards the second half of Moominpappa's Memiors. I don't know what Exploits does, I'm stuck in America. :( Anyway, I stuck with principal because simplicity and it cheered Patch up.  
> -"Higgley-piggely" is from "Comet in Moominland".  
> -The song "Mymble's Kids Go to Bed" is just 99 bottles of beer on the wall with the lyrics switched out.  
> -I don't know how concussions work.  
> -So in the anime, Joxter's nose looks nothing like Snufkin's, but Snufkin's looks like Mymble and Little My's. So Brother Mymble's comment about Snufkin having a mymble nose is purely headcannon.  
> -In the Big Rock Candy Mountains by Harry Mac McClintock is a real song. I only had Snufkin sing the most anarchy-coded versus, of course. Don't know if the moominverse has bulldogs or hens, but it was too perfect. Anyway, go listen to the whole thing. As one commenter put it, "It's like a kids song for adults!"  
> -Also, go listen to "There is a Time" by the Dillards (Or the Darlings, as they were known by whenever they played on the Andy Griffith show). I almost had Snufkin sing that, and then I changed my mind because reasons.  
> -Yes, I did write my own song for Snufkin to sing, but I'll use it later. (Or I'll post it on tumblr if I don't, but I think it'll show up in the next few chapters).


	14. About Living and Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, don't panic at the chapter number indicator. That number could go up by one or two depending on changes I make to the outline (and has a minute chance of going down to 16, but I doubt that). We're just getting close enough that I think I'm safe filling in a number now. Mostly to communicate that I have an end in sight and I'm not just dragging you all along because I can.  
> ...That kind of blows my mind, to be totally honest with you all.  
> Also, cw, this chapter kind of flirts with depressive thoughts (extreme apathy) towards the end, but there's no suicide mentions or anything of the like. It starts when Snufkin mentions being 8-10 years old. If you want to skip that part, do a control + F/ search in page for the phrase "Snufkin let her." and your computer should take you right past that. (I'll sum it up first thing in the notes).

Everyone on the boat insisted that Snufkin go up the ladder first. He obliged, even though he didn’t quite understand why he was being chosen when Brother Mymble was clearly more injured. Perhaps the ladder didn’t look sturdy enough to them. It was just like Emil and Seamstress to put his needs above their own. Emil carried Brother Mymble has he climbed, followed by Moomindad, and then Seamstress.

The minute Emil and Brother Mymble reached the top of the ladder, the entire crew of the SM Sister Mymbles erupted into a sea of noise.

“I don’t believe my eyes!” Myron enveloped the two of them into a hug. “Little My!”

“Emil! Brother Mymble! We thought you were dead!” Another crew member shouted. 

The Captain's Cabin door swung open. A mymble woman with thick, black glasses and her hair tied in a tight bun stepped outside. She threw her hands over her mouth and gasped.

“Dadda!” A small, white moomin bolted from under the mymble’s legs.

“Moominlass!” Moomindad bent down and scooped his daughter up. “Oh, Moominlass!”

“Brother Mymble!” The mymble woman snapped to her senses and ran over to him.

“Emil, is he alright?” Myron asked anxiously. “He’s looking at us funny.”

“He received a concussion this morning.” Emil explained. “Actually, if you happened to bring a medical kit along, I’d love to use it.”

“Myron…” Brother Mymble blinked a few times. “Little...My?”

“We’re right here.” Little My gently stroked Brother Mymble’s hair.

“My concuthion is worth.” Brother Mymble turned to Emil. “I’m seeing things now.”

“Myron and Little My are really here.” Emil broke into a grin. “They’re really here.”

Brother Mymble reached up and grasped Little My’s paw. “Okay.” Brother Mymble smiled contentedly. “I believe you.”

“We thought you two were…” Little My swiped furiously at her eyes. “A-anyway. You wanted the medical kit, right?” 

“Yes, of course.” Emil nodded. “Thank you for keeping me on track, as usual.”

“I’ll get the crew to work on bringing the boat up.” Myron promised. “I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

“Sounds good to me” Emil agreed.

“I’m glad you’re alright.” Myron told him. “I have so much to tell you!”

“I have a lot to tell you too.” Emil promised. “But first, I need to examine Brother Mymble properly.”

“An I need a nap.” Brother Mymble announced. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get one.” Myron told him. “The infirmary hammock is the nicest bed ever…”

Snufkin watched Moomindad toss his daughter up into the air. He debated going to see Brother Mymble’s examination, but it felt like a private moment between him, his siblings, and Emil. Snufkin didn’t want to disturb that.

“Well, this is quite fortuitous.” Seamstress appeared beside him. 

“I know.” Snufkin agreed. “We were in trouble again, and suddenly Brother Mymble has his siblings back and Moomindad has his daughter back.”

“They must have been looking for survivors of the dam collapse.” Seamstress guessed.

“If that’s true, then we sure got lucky.” Snufkin remarked. 

“That seems to be a recurring theme on this journey.” Seamstress pointed out.

“I suppose so.” Snufkin chuckled.

“By the booble…” A voice choked out.

“Hm?” Snufkin turned around. A hemulen with a pair of spectacles stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Snufkin?” The hemulen asked reverently. 

Suddenly, the name popped into Snufkin’s head. “Topias!”

“How....how did you survive?” Topias asked in awe.

“I got very, very lucky.” Snufkin didn’t want to go into too much detail. After all, they had only shared a coffee once.

“You sure did…” Topias started to rub his glasses with his handkerchief. “Yes, indeed…”

“Is something the matter?” Snufkin frowned. 

“We need to talk. Ideally in private.” Topias put his glasses back on. “Follow me.”

“Only if Seamstress comes with.” Snufkin insisted.

“That’s fine by me.” Topias agreed. “I just don’t think that you should hear this news in public, that’s all.”

“Why not?” Snufkin challenged, but Topias was already making his way to a door at the back of the ship. Exchanging glances with Seamstress, Snufkin followed. What in the world did Topias want to tell him?

* * *

The sun beat down on Moomin as he dug lilies out of Mr. Hemulen’s garden. He took care to carefully extract them, making sure not to damage the roots. Patch sat next to him, carefully replanting every plant in a pot. It was a lot more cumbersome picking flowers this way, but as Mr. Hemulen had pointed out, Snufkin would’ve hated the thought of innocent flowers dying on his behalf for such a senseless purpose. Moomin had to agree with him. Whenever he had made a flower crown for Snufkin, Snufkin would refuse to let Moomin make him another one until the flowers had turned brown and fallen off. 

“It’s awful nice of that hemulen to let us use his garden.” Patch remarked. 

“Mr. Hemulen has always gotten along with Snufkin.” Moomin informed him. “Actually, he got Mr. Hemulen interested in botany in the first place. They also used to go fishing together.”

“I see.” Patch nodded thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was Snufkin like?”

“Snufkin was…” Moomin stopped digging, struggling to find the right words. “He was very adventurous. You could point at almost any spot on the map and he’d have a story to tell you. He loved music, and was an expert harmonica player. Every spring, he’d come back with a new tune to celebrate.”

“So he was a musician?” Was it Moomin’s imagination, or did Patch sound almost jealous?

“I suppose he was.” Moomin sighed happily. “He was also very patient. You could talk to him for hours, and he’d never complain. He’d offer the best advice and could fix every problem, no matter how large.”

“Every problem?” Patch sounded a bit skeptical. “It’s impossible for someone to fix every problem all the time.”

“Well, every problem that I needed help with.” Moomin amended. “But to be honest, I can’t think of any time he’s ever not made something at least a bit better. There was the time he helped create a fake a thief so that the Inspector could keep his job, the time he saved a bunch of orphans from a park and then found us on a floating theater, the time he played his harmonica and calmed a bunch of man-eating plants, the time he helped me face a pirate who had kidnapped Snorkmaiden…”

“Wait.” Patch held up his paw. “Man-eating plants? A hostage situation? You’re pulling my leg.”

“No I’m not!” Moomin promised him. “It’s all true!”

“Okay then, if you say so.” Patch shrugged. “He sounds like an incredible man.”

“Actually, he’s my age!” Moomin giggled. “Maybe a little bit older, but he’s closer to my age than yours. He’d be happy to hear you say that though!”

“Your age?” Patch asked incredulously. “Really?”

“Yep!” Moomin nodded.

“Well, he sure has done a lot.” Patch sighed, starting at the pot of lilies in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Moomin asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Patch shook his head. “Do you think we have enough lilies?”

“I think so.” Moomin agreed. 

“Moomin!” Snorkmaiden ran over. “Mr. Hemulen and I decided what flower arrangement to put by Snufkin’s grave. Do you want to see what we picked out?”

 _Snufkin’s grave._ Moomin shuddered. He still couldn’t get used to the phrase. Snufkin’s grave was going to be under the big oak tree he had played the harmonica under so many times. Instead of a body, Moominpappa was going to build a casket, put Snufkin’s hat in it, and bury them both. They hadn’t decided whether or not to put a headstone there, but everyone agreed that it would be a good idea to plant Snufkin’s favorite flowers around the grave. He would definitely have approved of that. 

“I’d like to see.” Patch grabbed his crutches. Snork was currently using his prosthetic limb to take some measurements. He was fairly confident that he could easily make Patch a better one.

“Me too.” Moomin helped Patch to his feet.

Snorkmaiden led them to a pile of potted plants. There were orange flowers, bright blue flowers, yellow flowers, and vibrant red flowers. There were so many different types, Moomin couldn’t hope to name them all.

“Well, what do you think?” Mr. Hemulen gestured to the flowers. “Part of me wonders if we have too many flowers, or too many flower colors…”

“This is perfect.” Moomin reassured him. 

“You could probably see that flower arrangement from the top of the Lonely Mountains.” Patch remarked. “It’s beautiful.”

“Why thank you.” Mr. Hemulen rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“All we have to do now is to move all the plants over to Snufkin’s Grave and plant them.” Snorkmaiden sighed. “He would’ve loved all these flowers.”

“Did he have a favorite kind?” Patch asked.

Snorkmaiden and Moomin glanced at each other. “He liked all the flowers.” Moomin answered. Even though he was sure he was right, he had never directly asked Snufkin what his favorite one had been. The thought made Moomin a little sad. 

"I don't blame him." Mr. Hemulen smiled. "I can't pick just one either. They're each beautiful in their own way."

"I like those golden roses." Patch pointed to the back of the garden. "Do you think we should plant a few of those for Snufkin?"

"He never liked fancy things." Moomin shook his head. "What we have here is enough."

"Well, there goes my idea for a grave trinket." Patch pulled a shiny pink crystal from his pocket.

"Ooh!" Snorkmaiden exclaimed. "Where did you get that?" 

“Good question.” Patch frowned, rotating the crystal in his paws. “Surprisingly, I don’t think I stole it from anywhere. Probably a cave somewhere.”

“Can I hold it?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“Sure.” Patch passed it over. 

“It’s beautiful.” Snorkmaiden eagerly held it up to the sun, causing it to sparkle and shimmer. 

“Wow!” Moomin was impressed by the crystal, but something Patch had said was still bugging him. “What’s a grave trinket?”

“Oh. Um…” Patch scratched his head. “I vaguely remember attending a few funerals. It changes from person to person, but sometimes people will slip small items into the grave for the deceased to take with them. Usually it’s something that the deceased loved, like a stamp for a stamp collector or maybe a fishing lure for someone who liked fishing.”

“But I thought you couldn’t take anything when you left.” Moomin frowned. Snufkin and Sniff would frequently get into arguments surrounding this principal. Sniff would argue that since you couldn’t take it all, you should enjoy as many things as possible while you were alive. Snufkin believed the opposite, that because you couldn’t take it all with you, gathering things throughout one’s life was a pointless endeavor with the added disadvantage of being bad for the environment. 

“It varies from creature to creature, I think.” Patch clarified. “I-I don’t remember which creatures tend to believe what, or maybe perhaps I never had it one hundred percent down in the first place…”

“I think it’s a lovely idea, even if Snufkin doesn’t get any of the stuff.” Snorkmaiden interrupted Patch. “I’d like the chance to give him something one more time, wouldn’t you Moomin?”

Moomin nodded, fidgeting with his tail. Even though he was pretty sure Snufkin would dismiss the entire notion of a grave gift, Snorkmaiden could be right. Maybe a grave gift would be a good way for Moomin to say farewell to his best friend. Still, the thought made his stomach flip-flop. He had about two weeks to come up with the last gift he would ever give Snufkin.

Snorkmaiden handed the crystal back to Patch. 

“Well, I have two weeks to think of a different trinket.” Patch shrugged. “It should _—hey you! What are you doing with those lilies?”_

Startled, Moomin quickly turned his head towards the lilac field. Stinky was there, carting away the lilies that Moomin and Patch had painstakingly dug from the ground. “Stinky!” He bellowed, racing after him.

“Nyehehehehe!” Stinky chortled. He ran down the hill, leapt onto the wheelbarrow, and rode away. 

“Grr….” Moomin was seething. How dare Stinky steal those flowers! “Those were for Snufkin!” He shouted, shaking his fist.

“It’s alright Moomin.” Mr. Hemulen came up behind him. “We still have plenty for the funeral.”

“But those were for Snufkin!” Moomin repeated angrily. “What in the world would _Stinky_ want with those flowers?”

“Maybe he just wanted to redecorate.” Snorkmaiden suggested. “Doesn’t he live in a hole in the ground?”

“They were _Snufkin’s flowers.”_ Moomin clenched his fists. “We should get them back.”

“Stinky hasn’t pulled a prank in a while.” Mr. Hemulen pointed out. “He may have just seen the flowers sitting there and acted without realizing what type of flowers they were or why they were picked.”

“He might not even know Snufkin’s dead yet.” Snorkmaiden added. “Stinky usually keeps to himself in the forest. The news might not have reached him.”

“Still…” Moomin hesitated.

“Would Snufkin go and chase after Stinky over something so trivial?” Mr. Hemulen asked.

“Probably not.” Moomin agreed. 

“We’ll tell Stinky about Snufkin the next time we see him.” Snorkmaiden decided. “He’ll definitely leave us alone after that.”

“Okay.” Moomin nodded in agreement. 

“We should probably load the flowers up.” Mr. Hemulen turned to Patch. “Could you keep track of the amount of each color for me? It’ll be useful when we design where the flowers go.”

“Okay.” Patch shrugged. 

Moomin was pretty sure that Snufkin wouldn’t care how the flowers looked like around his grave, but maybe it was something Mr. Hemulen wanted to do for him anyway, a final present of sorts. 

As everyone prepared to take the flowers to Moominhouse, Moomin couldn’t help but glare at the forest. Hopefully, Stinky would leave them in peace for the rest of the day. He was the _last_ thing they needed right now.

* * *

Stinky laughed as the wheelbarrow came to a stop. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages! Nobody had been really playing outside or doing anything at all since Snufkin had kicked the bucket. And when nobody’s doing anything, it makes them hard to prank. When he saw the flowers, he had jumped at the first chance to cause some mischief.

Why in the world were they picking so many flowers anyway? Mr. Hemulen had always prized his garden, and would never permit such wide-spread destruction of his own property on purpose. If Stinky had tried to dig up his garden, the Inspector would’ve thrown him in prison faster than one could say “flower pot.”

 _It probably doesn’t matter,_ Stinky thought to himself. _As long as they’re over Snufkin._ Maybe once he got back to pranking on a more regular basis, he’d be able to get over Snufkin too. After all, Snufkin had tried to ruin his fun on more than one occasion. Stinky had no reason to give him a second thought. 

_At least there’s no way Snufkin can ruin my pranks now._ Stinky laughed gleefully as he carted the purple flowers back to his house. _Maybe I can use these in my next prank. Oh, what fun!_

* * *

“Please, sit down.” Topias gestured to the two chairs at the opposite end of the dinning hall table.

“What is it?” Snufkin asked. 

“I...well, I…” Topias tugged on the collar of his shirt. 

“You called us here. Go on, spit it out.” Seamstress crossed her arms.

“I found your things.” Topias informed Snufkin.

“Really?” Snufkin burst out into a grin. “Do you have them with you? I’d love to play my harmonica again!”

“Well...not exactly.” Topias admitted.

“Are they back on land? If they are, that’s not a problem.” Snufkin reassured him. “I can wait a few days to see my stuff again. Did you happen to find my hat?”

“I did actually,” Topias said, “but…”

“My stars!” Snufkin touched the top of his head where his hat used to be. “I’m going to get my hat back!” He turned to Seamstress. “I’ve told you about my hat, right?”

“It was a worn-out green hat with a red feather, right?” Seamstress smiled. 

“Exactly.” Snufkin sighed in relief. “I can’t believe you found my stuff Topias. Thank you so much.”

“It was rather fortunate.” Topias agreed. “But unfortunately, I don’t have your stuff anymore.”

“Oh.” Snufkin felt his face fall. “Did someone steal it?”

“No.” Topias shook his head.

“Did you sell it? Because if you did, I don’t mind.”

“No.” Topias swallowed nervously.

“Did you give it away?” Snufkin asked.

“Well, not exactly…” Topias began to vigorously polish his glasses

Sensing that endlessly questioning the hemulen wasn’t going to get him anywhere, Snufkin sat and waited.

Finally, Topias put his glasses back on. “The last time we met, you mentioned that you had friends over in Moominvalley.”

“Right.” Truthfully, Snufkin barely remembered anything from his conversation with Topias other than the dam warning. 

“Well, when you failed to show up at your normal time, they came looking for you.” 

Snufkin felt his eyes pop open. “They came…” he pointed at himself.

“Yes.” Topias confirmed.

Snufkin was speechless. He hadn’t even told Moominpappa where he was heading for the winter. How in the world had they figured it out? Not to mention the implication that they hadn’t just given up on him like he had feared. 

_They were worried about him._

“What happened next?” Seamstress prodded Topias.

“Right.” Topias adjusted his glasses. “I encountered Moominpappa and Moominmamma, and told them what I knew. I gave them your stuff…” Topias trailed off. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. 

“Well, they have my stuff now. That’s good. Right?” Snufkin frowned as Topias’s shoulders began to shake. Something was wrong.

“I-I told them you were dead!” Topias choked out. “I mean, the water...and the smashed trees...you’ve got to understand what it looked like to me! And to everyone frankly! The fact that you’re still here is a miracle but I told them that it would be foolish to hope….”

“They think I’m….dead?” Snufkin suddenly felt faint.

“I’m sorry!” Topias wailed. “I thought convincing them to move on would be the best thing to do! Hope doesn’t do anyone good when things are truly hopeless! I never meant to hurt them, or you….or…”

“Calm yourself, Topias.” Seamstress put a reassuring paw on his arm. “I don’t blame you for making that assumption. Heck, there were a few times that I thought _I_ was going to die. And I’m sure Snufkin doesn’t blame you either.” She prodded Snufkin with her foot. “Right?”

Snufkin nodded. Normally, he would’ve done so without the foot nudging (Seamstress’s line of thinking made sense), but his thoughts were racing. Moomin...Moominmamma and Moominpappa...Snorkmaiden...Little My...Mr. Hemulen...Sniff...they all thought he was dead now. _They thought he was dead._ He...well, he couldn’t even imagine what they must be feeling now.

“How long ago was this?” Seamstress gently asked. 

“Back in the early spring, I think.” Topias swiped his face. “Snufkin, I’m so sorry.”

“Well…” Snufkin tried to answer, but his words were failing him. He’d always prided himself on being a calm and level-headed person, but how in the world was he supposed to deal with _this?_ Everyone in Moominvalley thought he was _dead!_

“Did they say anything else?” Seamstress prompted. “Did they mention funeral arrangements, or anything else about their future plans?”

“No.” Topias started to clean his glasses again. “Moominmamma mostly cried. Moominpappa was keeping it together, you know, because that’s what a man’s expected to do you know, even though it was obvious that he was crushed. He thanked me for taking care of Snufkin on his last day, I gave them my condolences and apologized that I couldn’t stop Snufkin from leaving...and that was pretty much it.”

 _By the Groke._ Snufkin felt sick to his stomach. He was going to vomit, he knew it.

“Topias, thank you for telling us.” Seamstress told him. “I know it must have been hard for you. But I think Snufkin and I need some time to ourselves.”

“Of course.” Topias stood up and pushed his chair in. “If you have any questions, just come and find me.”

“We will.” Seamstress promised.

“I’m so sorry Snufkin.” Topias apologized one last time before he left the room, making sure to shut the door behind him.

“What’s on your mind?” Seamstress turned to Snufkin.

“I failed them.” Snufkin wrapped the edges of his scarf around his paw and squeezed. “I knew that, and I’d made peace with that, but now they think I’m…” He shuddered. He couldn’t even say the word.

“I know this is a bit of a shock to you.” Seamstress said soothingly. “Are you alright?”

“They’re going to be so mad at me.” Snufkin fretted. He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe himself. 

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I was stupid.” Snufkin clenched his hair. “I could’ve avoided all of this if I’d just stayed at that stupid inn. Sure, it would’ve cost me two weeks, but…” He groaned in frustration. “But then Moomin would’ve been crushed! Besides, I was so certain that I could handle it, that the water wouldn’t rise that high, that the dam wouldn’t burst! In the end, traveling that night almost cost me everything, still might cost me everything, but I would’ve lost…” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“No you’re not.” Seamstress said bluntly. “I know what you believe, but I honestly don’t think that they’ll be mad at you.”

“Why not? What evidence...of course.” Snufkin uncrossed his arms. “Patch.”

“He could literally throw someone off a mountain and I’d still love him.” Seamstress chuckled. “Sure, I occasionally got cross at him, but I don’t think it’s in a mother’s nature to get truly angry at her children. Or in the nature of a true friend. I don’t think you have anything to fear.”

“If I lose them, I’d lose everything.” Snufkin blurted out. 

“Snufkin…”

“Do you remember the comet?”

Seamstress nodded.

“I was about 8 or 10 years old when it showed up. Before that point, I’d never really had a friend.” Snufkin confessed. “Sure, I’d occasionally find other travelers to talk to, which was nice, but at the end of the day I was alone. I do like being alone sometimes, but being truly alone in the world...at the time, I didn’t realize how much pain I was in until...” Snufkin took a minute to swallow. He’d never even confessed this to the Moomins. “When news of the comet came, everyone was talking. If you recall, the word on the street was that death was certain, that there would be no Earth afterwards, or it would be pretty much inhospitable. When I learned that, I gave up. I went to a ravine, set up camp, and decided that I would simply watch it come. It did look rather beautiful after all.”

“Then, a moomin and a fuzzy showed up to my camp, and changed my life forever. They were Moomintroll and Sniff. They didn’t want to just accept their demise. They wanted to learn more, to save people, who incidentally also became my friends, and they were willing to do almost anything to get home to Moominmamma. I taught them what I knew, how to deal with an eagle, how to ride on stilts…” Snufkin paused again and swallowed. “Seeing the ocean empty like that...it broke me. Because at the time, it was one of the few things that gave me joy. How the tides would push and pull, how the ocean mist would spray on my face...I didn’t realize that in the middle of all the chaos, that I had found friends that I would have thrown away a thousand oceans for. Of course, we all survived the comet and the oceans came back, but after that...I didn’t want to leave. For the first time ever, I wanted to stay, even as I wanted to leave. I stayed over that first winter. The second winter, the pain became unbearable, and I had to leave. I promised I’d come back on the first day of spring…” Snufkin laughed. He could feel the tears start to leak from his eyes. “Moomin was waiting for me on the bridge. That silly old troll…” Snufkin dabbed his eyes.

“I keep going because of them. Not that I have any desire to leave the world, there’s so much to do and so much to see in it. But….” Snufkin felt a lump in his throat, but he pressed on. He’d made it this far already. “It’s like when I learned the comet was coming. The situation was hopeless. Why bother with anything? There was nothing I could do about it. And when I was clinging onto that driftwood for dear life, a part of me wanted to slip back into the water, instead of pressing on. I shouldn’t have gotten a miracle. I was stupid, I took a gamble I never should have made. But for some reason...I’m here.” Snufkin let the tears fall, there was no point in hiding them now. “I didn’t want to return to the empty lonely shell of a person that I used to be. I don’t think I could take that. So I took the gamble, I made that stupid, stupid choice, all because I was scared that they’d leave me. And I knew that I couldn’t take that, and that I would give anything in the world to stop that from happening.” Snufkin felt his lip tremble. “I wasn’t expecting Moominpappa and Moominmamma to come, I really wasn’t. I’m not sure what was worse, them thinking I’ve abandoned them or them thinking I’m dead. I just...I just want to be _home…”_

“Oh Snufkin!” Seamstress pulled him into a hug. Snufkin let her. He really needed one.

“Tell you what.” She said once he started to calm down. “How about I come back to Moominvalley with you?”

“What about your son?” Snufkin wondered. “Weren’t you going to wait for him? I mean, your house is gone, but…”

“Patch would never forgive me if I didn’t help a fellow traveler when he needed it.” Seamstress reassured him. “Besides, we don’t know if you’re going to be walking into your own funeral or not.”

“I doubt that.” Snufkin chuckled. “It’s probably already over. That would’ve been a scene though.”

“I’m still coming.” Seamstress insisted. “I’m not letting you see your own grave by yourself. I heard that the sight could kill a person.” 

_His own grave._ Snufkin shuddered. Of course Moominpappa and Moominmamma would make one for him. “I don’t want to see it by myself either.”

“So it’s decided then.” Seamstress straightened her dress. “Now all we have to do is tell Emil and Brother Mymble.”

“They’re going to freak out.” Snufkin giggled. It wasn’t a laughing matter, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“They probably will.” Seamstress agreed. “Let’s go.”

“What if..” Snufkin hesitated. “What if we’re wrong and they’re mad at me?”

“Then I’ll shake some sense into them.” Seamstress promised.

Snufkin snorted. It was something that Little My (the real one back home) would say.

 _I’ll see her soon._ Snufkin thought to himself. _I’ll see all of them soon. Because I'm going back to Moominvalley. Come Hell or High Water._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW Summary: Snufkin describes part of the plot of Comet in Moominland to Seamstress from his point of view. He emphasizes that meeting Moomin, Sniff, and the residents of Moominvalley made his life much better, and that he's put up with the events in this story thus far just so that he could see them again. He was pleasantly surprised when Moomin showed up at the bridge that first year, and is afraid in the back of his mind that his friends could leave him and make his life worse again. Snufkin would also throw away a thousand oceans for Moominvalley.  
> Chapter notes:  
> -Lilies are traditionally funeral flowers.  
> -There's a big oak tree that I recall Snufkin playing the harmonica under multiple times in the 90s anime. It seemed as good of a place as any for the grave.  
> -The trinket in the grave thing is occasionally practiced where I live from what I've heard from people who have been to funerals. Depends on how traditional your church is.  
> -I know Snufkin doesn't normally swear even with a mild oath, but it was a title drop moment and honestly, you've probably cursed in your head too.


	15. About Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! :)  
> Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Snufkin was swabbing the deck with Myron when a scream pierced the air. 

_ “Ahhhh!”  _

“Brother Mymble!” Myron instantly recognized his brother’s voice. He raced to the captain’s quarters.

Snufkin dropped his broom and quickly followed.

“I’m here!” Myron cried.

_ “No! No!” _ Brother Mymble yelled.

Snufkin peered into the room. Emil and the ship’s doctor (an old, wizened hemulen) were trying to hold down a thrashing Brother Mymble.

“Oof!” the hemulen exclaimed as he lost his grip on Brother Mymble’s arm, leaving it free to whack him in the stomach.

“Take it easy! I’m here!” Emil tried to sooth him.

“Emil?” Brother Mymble seemed to become a little more lucid. “Where’s Snufkin?”

“I’m right here.” Snufkin made his way to Brother Mymble’s bedside. 

“Thank the booble.” Brother Mymble swept Snufkin up into a crushing hug.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Myron asked timidly.

_ “Myron?” _ Brother Mymble’s jaw dropped. “Wait….is this  _ your _ ship?”

“Yeah.” Myron said. “Do you not remember…?”

_ “By the groke!” _ Brother Mymble exclaimed. He started to laugh. “I thought I was on the pirate’s ship—ooh!” He grabbed his head.

“Don’t exert yourself now!” Emil warned him. “You have a concussion.”

“Ah, yeah.” Brother Mymble sighed. He gently laid himself back down. “It smarts.”

“Perhaps some pain medication?” the hemulen doctor suggested. 

“Do you wanna give me a brain bleed?” Brother Mymble frowned.

“It’s been more than a day.” Emil explained. “You’ve been very, very out of it.”

“Alright.” Brother Mymble agreed. “I can have some.”

The hemulen handed him some pills and a glass of water, grumbling about how doctors make the worst patients. 

“So,” Myron asked as Brother Mymble swallowed the pills, “what is the last thing you remember?”

“Blackstar holding Snufkin by the scruff of his smock is the last thing I remember clearly.” Brother Mymble said. “I have a hazy memory of being on a rowboat, and then I woke up here.” He rubbed his head. “Anybody wanna fill me in?”

Snufkin, Emil, and Myron eagerly took turns explaining the events of the past two days to him. At some point, Seamstress and Little My entered with some food, causing Brother Mymble to freak out again (Little My? Praise the booble!).

“So let me get this straight.” Brother Mymble turned to Little My. “The only reason you were in the area was because you were looking for Moomindad?”

“I felt a strong sense of kinship with Moominlass.” Little My fidgeted with her glasses. “It was irrational, but I felt the need to at least try and look for her father.”

“It’s lucky that you did.” Brother Mymble smiled proudly at her. “That’s the exact thing I would’ve done in your shoes.”

“Oh. Um...quite.” Little My blushed.

“Snufkin…” Brother Mymble turned towards the young mumrik. 

“I know.” Snufkin nodded. “It took some time to get used to. But I think I’m okay now.”

“If you say so…” Brother Mymble seemed doubtful, but he didn’t seem eager to push the issue.

“Thankfully, we’re pretty close to Deer Valley.” Myron informed them. “That’s not too far from Moominvalley, right?”

Snufkin nodded. The minute they hit Deer Valley, they’d be about a week away.

“How close are we?” asked Emil.

“We should be there by nightfall.” Myron said. “Actually, I instructed my first mate to let me know if…”

There was a banging on the door. “Captain Myron!” a snork opened the door and peered in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you told me to let you know when the lookout could see the mountains.”

“The mountains?” Snufkin felt his heart leap.  _ Could it be? _

“Thank you Bently.” Myron saluted his first mate. 

“Which mountains?” Snufkin whispered reverently. 

“The Lonely Mountains, of course.” Myron smiled. “Do you want to see?”

Snufkin quickly nodded, a grin spreading across his face. He couldn’t believe it!

“I want to see too.” Brother Mymble tried to swing his feet over the side.

“You need bed rest, I must protest—” the hemulen doctor began.

“Oh do be quiet.” Emil rolled his eyes. “If he wants to see them, he can see them. He can get plenty of rest later.”

Seamstress got on the other side of Brother Mymble and helped Emil lift him up. Snufkin stood impatiently in the doorway. The minute it seemed like they were okay, Snufkin raced after Myron. He bounded up the stairs and raced to the bow of the ship. And there they were.

Snufkin drank in the sight of the mountains. He knew it was impossible, but they seemed to have grown even taller and become even grander in his absence. He pinched himself and rubbed his eyes, but the mountains were still there.

“I always love seeing the Lonely Mountains.” Myron said happily. “This is the closest I’ve been in a while, but they’re always a sight to behold. I can’t imagine being able to see them all the time. You’re pretty lucky.”

Snufkin nodded. He was so overwhelmed with happiness that he didn’t trust himself to respond. Thankfully, Myron seemed to understand.

In a few days, he’d be climbing those mountains.

And soon after that, Snufkin would be home. 

* * *

Moomin was having, to put it mildly, a very bad week. 

Being at home was unbearable. Moominpappa had finished building the coffin and was now hard at work on Snufkin’s obituary. He had become very moody, and had shut himself up in the study in order to “get his writing juices flowing.” Moomin only saw him at dinner.

Moominmamma was distracted with pretty much every other aspect of the funeral. People showed up to Moominhouse all day long. Sometimes they showed up and talked for awhile. Most of the time, they brought money, flowers, and food. 

“Why are people bringing us all of this food?” Moomin asked at dinner one night, digging into the most rubbery plate of spaghetti he had ever encountered (he wasn’t sure who had cooked it, and he didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but he was surprised that they had decided that this would be a good thing to serve someone). “They know Mamma’s the best cook in the valley, right?”

“I’m glad you like my cooking so much dear.” Moominmamma smiled at Moomin. “The short answer is that it’s tradition.” she dumped some green marinara sauce on top of her noodles (she was certain that it was only green due to some poor attempt at blending other vegetables into the sauce, but Moomin was still wary of it). “It’s an easy way for people to help us.”

“Your mother’s been busy cooking for the funeral.” Moominpappa elaborated. “Not to mention that she and Mymble have been making all the arrangements for the ceremony itself…” Moominpappa winced as he bit into a bizarrely hard piece of pasta. “It’s nice to have the help of others. Especially since we’re all grieving over Snufkin.”

Moomin couldn’t argue with that. 

Little My covertly took a few pieces of spaghetti and bounced them off the floor. Patch caught them and bounced them back. The two of them burst into laughter. 

“Patch. Little My.” Moominmamma gently chastised them. “We do not play with our food.”

“I’m sorry ma’am.” Patch instantly sobered up.

“Isn’t there anything else we can eat?” Little My begged. “I’d rather eat dirt than this! And I normally love spaghetti!” 

“Alright.” Moominmamma conceded. “It is rather under cooked for my taste.” She went into the fridge and pulled out another tin. “Let’s see what’s in here. I think it’s supposed to be a lasagna…” 

When they weren’t helping out with the funeral arrangements, Moomin and his friends often spent their time at Snork’s place. If they played outside, someone would inevitably interrupt their game with profuse apologies about Snufkin’s death and questions about the funeral, which would ruin the mood. Besides, playing outside just wasn’t the same without Snufkin.

Snork was now finishing up on Patch’s new prosthetic. He had told Patch that it would take him a while (he was an inventor after all, not a doctor) but given the circumstances, he could at least make him a substitute that would last him until the next big town (where, Snork had stressed, a real doctor should look at the prosthetic and make sure it wasn’t harming him in anyway). Patch had seemed skeptical initially, but he had eventually agreed to let Snork try after Snorkmaiden had gotten herself involved. 

Snork’s first try had been way too heavy to be practical, and the second one had broken in half when Patch had tried to put some of his weight on it. Snork was optimistic that this third try would be the one. 

Snork wasn’t used to having people over (it interfered with his inventing), so there wasn’t too much to play with. However, Snork did have a worn-out deck of cards, which provided endless hours of fun. Snorkmaiden would do tarot readings, Sniff wanted to build card towers, Moomin liked a nice game of goldfish or crazy eights, while Little My enjoyed a good old fashioned game of Slapjack. She took great joy in the slapping part, going as far as to “accidentally” slap people’s paws when there was no jack on the table.

“I think it’s my turn to shuffle.” Patch decided after Little My had won her fifth game of Slapjack in a row.

“Could we play a different game?” Sniff requested, rubbing his paw.

“No! I like this game!” Little My crossed her arms.

“We’ve played it ten times already!” Moomin complained. “How about Crazy Eights?”

“But that game’s so boring!” Little My groaned. 

“We did just play that before Slapjack,” Snorkmaiden said diplomatically, “but we’ve also played Slapjack a bunch too. Maybe I could break things up with another round of tarot readings?”

“What about another card tower?” Sniff suggested.

“How about a game of 21s?” Patch shuffled the cards. 

“21s?” Little My asked.

“I think it’s also called…” Patch frowned thoughtfully, “...Blackjack. Yes, Blackjack.”

“I’d like to learn a new card game.” Snorkmaiden said.

“Me too.” Moomin agreed.

“Isn’t that a gambling game?” Sniff asked suspiciously. “Gambling games are always set up so that the dealer has the best chance of winning.” 

“Well…” Patch scowled at the deck of cards. Suddenly, the cards shot down in the opposite direction that he had been shuffling in instead of up.

“Woah!” Moomin exclaimed. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Patch turned the cards over in his paws.

“That was cool!” Little My cheered.

“Do it again!” Snorkmaiden begged him. 

“Maybe if I…” Patch began to fiddle with the cards. Soon, he was able to replicate the shuffle. “It’s called a Riffle Shuffle.” He explained proudly, showing it off again. 

“Can you do other shuffles?” Sniff wondered. 

“Hm…” Patch waved all the cards out in a fan, flipped them over with a single finger, and quickly brought them together again in a neat stack. 

“Wow!” Everyone clapped politely. 

“I’ve got one more.” Patch knocked the cards against the table, and made them shoot from his paws. They landed in such a way that they formed another deck. “Ta-da!”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“I’m not sure.” Patch shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. I like doing it!” He tapped the cards again and proceeded to repeat the trick.

“Maybe you ran an illegal gambling ring.” Little My teased.

The cards slipped out of Patch’s paws, spilling all over.

“Little My!” Moomin scolded her. He bent under the table to pick up the cards on the ground.

“It’s okay.” Patch sighed. “For all I know, she could be right.”

“I’m sorry.” Little My apologized. “It would be better than being an ax murderer though, right?”

“Stop digging yourself into a hole.” Patch told her. “You weren’t thinking, you apologized, it was an honest mistake, and I forgive you. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Moomin handed Patch the cards that he had picked up.

“You know…” Snorkmaiden hesitated.

“What is it?” Patch asked her.

“There is a way to tell if you’ve done something really, really bad.” Snorkmaiden pointed out. “The Inspector has a bunch of wanted posters in his station. Because nothing really happens here in Moominvalley, only the worst of the worst end up in there.”

“The worst of the worst, huh.” Patch fidgeted with a card. “Wouldn’t this inspector just arrest me if I’m on one of those posters?”

“He won’t if we ask him nicely.” Moomin promised.

_ “If we ask him nicely.” _ Patch snorted. “I doubt it, but what the heck. I’m sick of not knowing things. I’ll take whatever I can get.” He grabbed his crutches. “Snork! I’m going to look at wanted posters! Do you need anything from me right now?”

“Um, I think you’re okay.” Snork yelled back. “I should be done in an hour or two.”

“That’s perfect. Snork, you are the best!” Patch stood up. “If any of you guys want to come with me, you’re more than welcome.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. 

“I wonder how many wanted posters are in the Inspector’s office?” Little My wondered.

“Tons, I’m sure.” Patch said. “I’m glad you guys are all down for helping me. It...it means a lot. Thank you.”

“Of course we want to help you!” Snorkmaiden said eagerly. “What are friends for?”

“We’re friends?” Patch sounded shocked.

“What else would we be?” asked Moomin. 

“You all realize that you haven’t known me that long, right?” Patch reminded them.

“That doesn’t matter.” Moomin told him.

“Yeah!” Snorkmaiden agreed.

“You guys really are something.” Patch chuckled. “Alright, let’s get this over with. I _ really _ want to find out if I’m on one of those wanted posters.”

* * *

_ “Hello Inspector!” _ Little My yelled, kicking open the door with her foot.

“Gah!” the Inspector yelled, almost tipping out of his chair. “Little My!” he scolded her. “I’m on the phone!”

Little My simply laughed.

“I have to go, Chief Muller.” the Inspector apologized. “My girlfriend’s sister is here. And it looks like she brought some friends, so it's probably important. You know how it is when you’re the only officer in town...yes, yes, thank you, goodbye.” He hung up the phone.

“I’m sorry sir.” Patch winced apologetically. “I only wanted to see if I was on the wanted posters…”

“Eh, he doesn’t like talking to Chief Muller anyway.” Little My waved her paw dismissively. “If anything, we’ve done him a favor.”

“Well, it's true that I don’t like him very much, but…” the Inspector’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon sir, you want to see if  _ you’re _ on a wanted poster? Are you quite certain about that?”

“Um...yes?” Patch shifted nervously. “My name is Patch. I lost my memory a few months back, and I was hoping that I might be able to find some clues about myself here.”

“Well, I don’t recognize your name. Your best bet for that would be to go to the district headquarters over in Shell Cove.” the Inspector said sympathetically, “but that doesn’t mean that I still can’t help you a bit. How far back do you need the wanted posters?”

“I don’t know.” Patch shrugged.

“How about the last three years?” Snorkmaiden suggested. “That’s when your letter was dated.”

“Good idea.” Patch agreed. “I’d like to see all the wanted posters for the last three years.”

“Sure thing!” the Inspector opened a chest. “Do you think someone would’ve filed a missing person’s report on you?”

“I’d like to think so…” Patch sighed.

“We’d like to look at those too.” Snorkmaiden decided. “Thank you Inspector.”

“Inspector,” Moomin asked nervously, “if Patch is on one of these wanted posters...you’re not going to arrest him, right?”

“I’ll be honest.” the Inspector set a pile of files and large binders on his desk with a loud  _ thump. _ “It depends on what he did. If it’s just some vandalism, I’ll let it slide. If it’s not, I’ll have no choice but to take action.”

“Even if he doesn’t remember what he did?” Moomin protested. 

“Well…” the Inspector hesitated.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.” Patch decided. “Inspector, I will accept whatever course of action you wish to take at that time.”

“Alright.” the Inspector nodded grimly. “All the mumrik wanted posters from three years ago are here.” He tapped a thick, green book. “The ones from two years ago are here.” he tapped an identical brown-colored book. “This stack of files is all the wanted posters I’ve received this year,” he smacked the papers, “and this purple binder is all the mumrik missing person’s cases I’ve ever received. The sad thing is, people don’t usually file missing persons reports on mumriks. They’re wanderers by nature and wander around a lot, which doesn’t lend itself to a lot of attachments.”

“I see.” Patch sounded absolutely crushed. 

“That doesn’t mean that someone didn’t make one for you!” the Inspector hastily reassured him. “I just meant that…”

“No, you’re absolutely right.” Patch agreed with him. “And there might still be a chance that there’s one for me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” the Inspector cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’m going to look through some other files, just in case I missed anything more recent or forgot to file something in the proper place. Because occasionally,” he glared at Little My, “a  _ certain someone _ likes to mess up my files.”

“Guilty.” Little My shrugged. 

Everyone took a part of the pile. Little My and Patch split the stack of papers, Sniff took the purple binder, Snorkmaiden took the brown book, and Moomin took the green book. They sat down on the ground and began to search.

At first, the search didn’t turn up anything good. Occasionally, Patch would make a gasp of recognition whenever he saw a mumrik he knew. Usually, they had been convicted of crimes like “Mass Embezzlement” and “Counterfeiting”. Moomin hadn’t heard of a few of the crimes, such as “Money Laundering”. One gasp of recognition turned into a groan.

“Arson.” Patch moaned. “What would possess Grugby to commit arson?”

“Arson?” Moomin asked.

“He allegedly burned something down.” Patch explained. “Probably by accident, based on what I remembered about him. But still.” He sighed. “Come on, Grugby.” 

“Isn’t this Snufkin?” Little My tugged a piece of paper out of the pile. 

“Oh! I meant to destroy that!” the Inspector hurried over. “My apologies!” 

“Wait!” Moomin called. “I want to see it!” 

“Um...sure.” the Inspector handed him the poster.

Disappointingly, the wanted poster only held a sketch of Snufkin, not a photo like Moomin had hoped for. Still, the likeness was still there. His reddish/brownish hair, his wide eyes, his round nose, his raggedy clothes. Only the smile was missing. For whatever reason, the artist had chosen to depict him with a devious grin that didn’t fit his soft face at all.

“What did Snufkin get a wanted poster for?” Snorkmaiden asked anxiously. “Did he do something really bad?”

“Probably just some vandalism again.” the Inspector said indifferently. “My police station often gets his wanted posters because Snufkin’s a ‘known vandal’ that ‘was last seen heading in this direction’.” the Inspector rolled his eyes. “If they'd bothered to use any policing, they'd realize that he heads in this direction every year. Usually, he didn't do anything too serious. I’ve got better things to do than to spend my days chasing after a minor anyway. No, it was much nicer to be friends with Snufkin. I don’t regret a thing.”

"Didn't you arrest him the first time you met?" Little My asked.

"Quiet you." the Inspector scolded her.

Moomin briefly glanced at the writing on the poster. It was indeed as the Inspector had said, a simple vandalism charge. Then why had they messed up his face so bad? Snufkin didn't have a malicious bone in his body.

“Moomin,” Patch tapped his leg, “may I see it?”

“His smile looks nothing like that.” Moomin handed the poster to Patch. “It’s kind and warm and soft. I have no idea what the artist was thinking.”

“He’s so young.” Patch remarked, staring at the poster. “I know you told me, but I didn’t realize until…” he trailed off.

“Can I have it back?” Moomin asked.

“Sure.” Patch gingerly passed it back.

“We don’t have any photos of Snufkin.” Moomin said sadly, gently rolling the poster up. “This is all I have.”

“I’m sorry.” Patch winced sympathetically. “That sounds hard. I know you miss him.”

Moomin nodded.

“You can keep that if you’d like.” the Inspector offered. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“Thank you Inspector.” Moomin smiled gratefully. 

“Inspector,” Sniff fidgeted with the edge of the paper, “I see that you have a missing poster of Joxter in here. Do you happen to have some of my parents?”

“I think so.” the Inspector dug through a different file cabinet. 

“Joxter?” Patch crawled over to Sniff. “That name sounds familiar to me. Can I see?”

“Um...sure, okay.” Sniff passed the book over. Little My glanced over Patch’s shoulder as he examined the photo. Patch started at the book with such a fierce intensity that Moomin feared that he would bore a hole into it. 

“Patch, right?” the Inspector asked. “How old are you?”

“Um…” Patch paused for a minute, as if he was doing some math. “I’m about twenty something.”

The Inspector pulled out two posters and shut the file cabinet. “Joxter’s missing person’s case is about 12 years old. You would’ve been about eight years old when it happened.”

“I don’t think I was travelling yet.” Patch sighed. “Maybe I was mistaken. Joxter might be a common name. Unless I met him when he visited me…?” 

“That’s a good theory, but our Joxter never went too far from the valley during those days.” the Inspector shook his head.

“Until he decided to take my mom and dad on a trip.” Sniff added sadly. “And then they never came back.”

“Where did they go?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“I don’t know.” Sniff shrugged miserably. “Nobody does. When I was eight, my great-uncle Hodgekins decided that he was sick of waiting for them to come back and went to look for them on his own.”

“Eight is an awfully young age to leave someone home alone by himself.” Snorkmaiden sounded shocked. 

“Well, he does send letters.” Sniff said defensively. “Besides, he talked to the Moomins first and they agreed to watch me.”

“Sniff...I never knew.” Moomin couldn’t believe that in all his years of knowing Sniff, he had never asked him directly about his parent’s disappearance. Sure, Moomin had only recently learned about the details from his pappa, but he still felt as if he should have broached the subject a long time ago. Moomin had asked Snufkin once about his own parents (he had only responded with a shrug). Why hadn’t he bothered to ask Sniff the same question?

“It’s alright Moomin.” Sniff told him. “I never told you.”

“Here are those posters you wanted to see.” the Inspector bent down and unfurled them in front of Sniff. “I need these for official purposes, but I can make you copies if you want.”

“I...yeah.” Sniff nodded. He ran his paws on the edges of the poster. “I’d love them.”

“Um...Inspector…” Little My traced her foot on the ground, “could you make a few copies of Joxter’s poster too?”

“Why do you want those?” Sniff scoffed with an uncharacteristic amount of derision. 

“He was my stepfather for a good long time!” Little My defended herself. “I’m allowed to miss him!”

“He’s the reason my parents are missing in the first place!” Sniff huffed. “If he’d never suggested that stupid mystery trip in the first place, I’d still have them!”

“How was he supposed to know that whatever was going to happen was going to happen!” Little My snapped back.

“Why didn’t he just stay and wait for his son to be born like a normal person!” Sniff fired back. 

Little My gnashed her teeth and bent her legs. Just as she was about to leap, the Inspector stepped between her and Sniff.

“That’s enough you two.” he said gently. “Sniff, Little My, apologize.”

“I’m sorry.” Sniff said. His tail was sticking up behind him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry too.” Little My spat out.

“Good.” the Inspector nodded curtly. 

Moomin didn’t think the Inspector noticed that both of them were still glaring at each other. He exchanged a glance with Snorkmaiden. What had gotten into those two?

“I’m sorry.” Patch apologized. “I didn’t mean to dredge up such a sore subject.”

“It’s one of the two unsolved missing persons cases in Moominvalley.” the Inspector explained. “I was actually assigned to this post shortly after it happened. Apparently, that incident was what made headquarters decide that Moominvalley needed a police station.”

“So that’s why we’re stuck with you.” Little My smiled slyly. 

“Well, I suppose so…” the Inspector blushed.

“Was the other missing persons case…” Sniff stopped mid-sentence and glanced over at Little My.

Little My nodded. “Nuuskamuikkunen?” She finished.

“Yes.” the Inspector confirmed.

“Nuuskamuikkunen is a brother of yours, right?” Moomin asked.

“He disappeared in a flood. My mother wrapped him up, placed him in a snuffbox, and pushed him out a hole in the ceiling because our house was filling with water and she though it was the only way to save him. We never figured out what happened to him, so he’s basically dead." Little My sighed. "It’s not something I like to talk about.” 

“I never knew.” Moomin stared at Little My.

“Well, I never told you.” Little My scowled at Moomin. “Quit looking at me like that! It happened a long time ago and I’m over it!”

Moomin couldn’t help but remember her crying after mentioning it a few weeks ago. He sincerely doubted that she was fine, but he knew better than to challenge Little My after she said she was alright. When she wanted to talk about it more, she would. It was as simple as that.

“We should get back to it.” Little My whipped her hands on her dress as if she was brushing away the entire issue of her missing brother and stepfather. “These wanted posters aren’t going to search themselves.”

“Say Sniff.” Patch furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “Why don’t you search that missing persons book from the back to the front instead? That way you don’t have to search through all the old cases.”

“I guess that would make things faster.” Sniff agreed. He flipped the book over and opened it from the back cover. “Ah!”

“It’s me!” Patch cheered. “Someone’s looking for me!”

Everyone got up and ran over to him. Mooomin stood on his tiptoes, desperately trying to peer over Patch’s shoulder.

“What does it say?” Snorkmaiden asked eagerly.

“It’s…” Patch sniffed.

“What’s wrong?” Moomin frowned.

“Absolutely nothing.” Patch answered happily. “The person who requested the poster was a woman named Seamstress.”

“Seamstress?” Moomin asked. “Is that someone you know.”

“You could say that. She’s my mother.” Patch laughed heartily. “Moomin, I remember now! She’s my mother! I have a mom! The Center was wrong!” He gripped his sides as the laughter enveloped him. “I’m not alone! I’m not alone! She’s looking for me. Even if she’s mad at me, she’s looking for me! My mother is real.” Patch hugged the poster to his chest as if he was afraid it would suddenly disappear. “My mother is real.”

* * *

Snufkin anxiously gripped the railing of the ship. Seamstress and Emil were standing right next to him. Little My was there as well, supporting Brother Mymble. The forest floor was coming closer, and the ship was slowing down. It was almost nightfall, just as Myron had predicted. It was almost time. 

“Raise the sails!” Myron ordered his crew. “Secure the cargo!”

“It’s a shame that we have to run the ship aground.” Brother Mymble sighed. “And we were almost home too!”

“Myron knew that was a possibility the minute we set out.” Little My reassured him. “And he told all the crew that this was a possibility too. We’re just lucky that it only adds an extra day on our walk back.”

_ And it takes a day away from mine,  _ Snufkin thought to himself. If he had understood Myron correctly, the ship had drifted slightly off course, putting Snufkin closer to Moominvalley.

“Weigh anchor!” Myron yelled. “Brace for impact!”

Snufkin gritted his teeth as the entire ship started to shake. There was an ear-splitting grinding noise. The ship abruptly halted, and then was suddenly pulled backwards. The breeze that Snufkin had grown used to died down, and the ship started to bob violently up and down. They appeared to have stopped right on the edge of the water.

“I think that was a pretty good landing.” Myron announced proudly. “Good job crew!”

Everyone cheered.

“Can we get off now?” Snufkin asked eagerly. 

“As soon as I get a landing dock in place.” Mryon promised.

Snufkin tapped his foot impatiently. It seemed to take forever for the ship’s crew to set the dock up. When they finally did, he raced down the dock, trying to make his way to the nearest tree. 

“Snufkin, wait!” Myron warned him. “I need to tell you—”

The minute Snufkin’s foot hit the mud, he felt the earth sway beneath him. Not expecting it, he lost his balance and fell.  _ Really? _ He thought to himself.  _ What was going on now? _

“I was trying to tell you.” Mryon laughed. “When you’re on a ship for a long time, your body kind of does this thing where it still thinks you’re on the ship because it’s used to the rocking sensation of the waves, and then your body gets confused when you get off.” 

“He did tell you to stop!” Little My laughed. 

“Leave him alone.” Emil scolded them. “It’s hard not to be that excited if you’ve been stranded for months.”

“Don’t worry Snufkin!” Brother Mymble called down. “I’ve had that happen to me before too.”

Snufkin ignored them and closed his eyes. Now that he knew that there wasn’t any imminent danger coming, he was focused on the beauty of it all. The birds chirped excitedly around him, as if they were welcoming him back after his long absence. He took a deep breath in. He could smell the wet dirt. He dug his paws into the mud, enjoying the feeling of it enveloping his paws. He opened his eyes and rolled himself over onto his stomach. There was a tree nearby. The world was still rocking back and forth, but Snufkin managed to crawl over to a nearby root. Paws trembling, he grasped the root. The bark scratched his paw pads in that uncomfortable, yet achingly familiar way. 

Snufkin began to laugh. Tears of joy started to flow down his face as the reality of the situation started to set in.

It was over.

It was all over.

_ He was going home. _


	16. About Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did bump the Chapter count up to 18. Hopefully that's the last time I do it, but we'll see.
> 
> Thank you all again for the support! It means a lot. :)

_ Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker’s man _

_ Bake me a cake as fast as you can _

_ Pat it and roll it and mark it with a P, _

_ And put it in the oven for Patch and me! _

“That was wonderful!” Moomin clapped politely. 

“It’s a nursery rhyme that my mother taught me.” Patch explained. “Usually the P is replaced with the letter of your first name. So if your mother sang this to you, it would be;  _ Pat it and roll it and mark it with an M / and put it in the oven for Moomin and me!” _

“That’s cool!” Moomin exclaimed. “Do you remember any more songs?”

“Mm, not at the minute, but some of them are on the tip of my tongue…!” Patch sighed. “I wish I had my guitar! I’m sure I could remember more if I could just play some bars!”

“Maybe your mom remembers more songs.” Moomin suggested. 

“She might!” Patch smiled wistfully. “You know, the Inspector said that as soon as he could reach the police chief in Hidden Valley, he could set up a phone call and we could talk! I can’t wait!”

Moomin grinned. He was glad Patch’s hopes and dreams were working out for him. 

“She’s going to freak out when I tell her about the leg,” Patch said, “but I’m sure she’ll get over it. And I’m sure the other residents of the valley will too. If memory serves me, they could be a little uptight, but they were all good people.”

“Snork did do a good job on your prosthetic.” Moomin pointed out. “They might not even notice.”

“For his third try, it was pretty good.” Patch nodded approvingly. “It’s chafing a little, but my first prosthetic did that too. Nothing a good sock and some lotion can’t help a little. Hopefully when I take it to the doctor’s, it won’t need too much fixing. I don’t want to have to spend time learning how to use another prosthetic. If Snork wanted to apprentice to someone, he could have a good career.” 

“He already has a job.” Moomin informed him. “He’s an inventor! He’s always working on his flying machine.”

“A flying machine?” Patch looked impressed. “That sounds like a lofty goal, pardon the pun. But if anyone can do it, I’m sure it’s him.”

“Yeah.” Moomin agreed. “Snufkin always said that when Snork built it, he wanted a ride. ‘No mumrik has ever traveled that far before! It’d be amazing to be the first!’ he’d always say.” Out of nowhere, Moomin felt his heart twist with grief. He supposed that if everything he’d heard about the afterlife was correct, Snufkin would be in the sky now. But this time, he couldn’t come back. Moomin glanced up at the clouds, wondering if Snufkin was peering over one of them, watching him. Moomin had ridden on a magical one before, and it had been a magnificent view.

Hopefully Snufkin’s view was five times grander and five times brighter. 

“Moomin? Hey, Moomin!”

“Oh!” Moomin jumped. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Patch said sympathetically. “I understand.”

Moomin sighed. 

“Anyway, you were asking for more songs, right?” Patch frowned thoughtfully. “I still don’t remember a full one, but I do vaguely remember this one that my biological mom taught my mother. But no...you wouldn’t know it.”

“Snufkin was never really one for singing,” Moomin said, “but there’s always a chance that I might at least know the melody.”

“Alright.” Patch cleared his throat. “I’ll hum where I don’t remember the words.”

_ A mother duck once hm-hm-hm-hm  _

_ Hm, there’s ducklings hm hm _

_ Suddenly the water started to rise  _

_ And they floated far away  _

_ Hm...I forget this part  _

_ The ducklings soon drowned— _

“No, that’s not right….I’m sorry.” Patch apologized. “I’m pretty sure the ducklings didn’t drown, and I think there’s one more line too. And a chorus. Does it ring a bell with you?”

“No.” Moomin sadly told him. “Although your singing was beautiful and it sounds like you have a pretty complete tune.”

“I appreciate the fact that you at least tried to remember it.” Patch thanked him. “Maybe if we wait a few hours, I might remember the chorus…” He trailed off. “What’s the Inspector doing on the porch?”

“Probably waiting for us.” Moomin guessed.

“Moominmamma would’ve invited him inside if that was the case.” Patch pointed out.

“Well, maybe she’s cooking fish again.” Moomin suggested. “Some people really hate the smell of fish.” 

“I don’t like this.” Patch quickened his pace. I don’t like this at all.”

“Hello.” The Inspector greeted them politely. “I see you have a prosthetic now. It looks good.”

“Thank you.” Patch nodded. “What brings you here?”

“About that…” the Inspector sighed. “Moominmamma called me here. Apparently, someone stole some of the pies she was baking off of the windowsill. I’m checking it for clues.”

“I bet it was Stinky!” Moomin said angrily. “He stole some flowers from Mr. Hemulen’s yard a few days ago! You should arrest him!”

“Moomin, even if it was Stinky, I can’t just arrest him without any evidence!” the Inspector explained.

“Mr. Hemulen and everybody else literally watched him break into the flower garden!” Moomin protested. “And his footprints might still be there! I’d say that’s enough evidence to at least arrest him for that!”

“It sounds like he’s been pretty active lately.” the Inspector remarked.

“So you are going to arrest him?” Moomin asked hopefully.

“It’s not like you to want revenge, Moomin.” the Inspector was concerned. “Not that Stinky hasn’t done some things that at least warrant community service, but I don’t think you’ve ever asked me directly to arrest him.”

“I just want him to stop messing with Snufkin’s funeral and leave us in peace.” Moomin felt his tail flick in frustration. 

“I can understand that.” the Inspector sympathized. “I’ll see if I can find him and have a chat with him. Would that make you feel better?”

“I suppose.” Moomin nodded.

“Why don’t we go inside?” the Inspector suggested. “I have a few things to talk about with your mother anyway.”

“I don’t want to be rude,” Patch sheepishly interjected, “but have you heard anything from my mother?”

“Why don’t you come inside too?” the Inspector held the door open for him.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me, do she?” Patch moaned. “If it was good news, you would’ve told me right away.”

“That’s not...it’s more complicated than that…” the Inspector shifted uncomfortably.

“Fair enough.” Patch crossed his arms and bravely leaned against the veranda. “I still want to know though.”

“Don’t you at least want to come inside?” the Inspector begged. “I’d like to tell you in private.”

“No.” Patch shook his head. “Out here is plenty private at the moment.”

“As you wish.” the Inspector fidgeted with his badge. “Do you want the door closed or…”

“It doesn’t matter to me either way.” 

The last thing Moomin saw before the Inspector closed the door was Patch nervously playing with the ends of his smock. 

“What’s going on Mamma?” he turned to his mother.

“Patch is getting some terrible news.” Moominmamma explained.

“What kind of news?” Moomin asked.

Moominmamma swept her son up in a hug. Suddenly, Moomin heard a loud, keening wail. It had been the wail that he himself had made when he learned of Snufkin’s death.

“Patch?” Moomin called.

A loud crack sounded from outside, followed by another yell.

“When he’s ready to come in, please don’t badger him.” Moominmamma requested. “He’s going to have a lot to process.”

The door swung open with a bang. Patch stumbled in, his body wrapped over one of his paws. The Inspector was right behind him, nervously clenching Patch’s walking stick.

“I punched the veranda.” Patch’s eyes were filled with a hollow emptiness. “I split one of the support beams.”

“It’s alright dear.” Moominmamma reassured him. “Moominpappa can fix it.”

“I know, but…” Patch hissed through his teeth. “I really hurt my paw. Kind of a stupid thing to do, huh?”

“Why don’t you sit down and let me look at it?” Moominmamma gently suggested.

“Alright.” Patch wearily sat down. “Ha, I haven’t punched anything in anger since I was ten. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Moominmamma gingerly knelt down and held out her paws. “Let me see.”

“Mother always told me there were better ways to be angry.” Patch’s eyes began to water. “She said she used to kick things in her youth. Until one day, she broke her toe. I just remembered that story.” He laughed. “Of course, it was right after I punched the veranda, too late to be of any use to me.”

“Can you wiggle your fingers?” Moominmamma asked.

“Yeah—” Patch winced. “I kinda can.”

“Moomin, could you bring me an ice pack and a towel?” Moominmamma requested.

“Of course.” Moomin ran to the icebox. 

“It felt good for a minute.” Patch admitted. “Now, I feel horrible  _ and  _ my paw feels horrible too.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” the Inspector told him. “It was a tragic accident.”

“If I’d left earlier, maybe after therapy was done, this might not have happened,” Patch said, “or at the very least I would’ve been with her when the end came. I was too late Inspector, I was too late.”

Moomin brought Moominmamma the towel and the ice pack. She deftly wrapped the towel around the pack and set in on Patch’s knuckles. “Does this feel better?”

“It feels good enough.” Patch’s pained expression softened, but only for a moment.

“Are you alright?” Moomin asked him.

“No,” Patch answered, “and I never will be. My house...my hometown... _ my mother _ …” his shoulders began to shake. “They’re  _ gone _ , Moomin! Swept away in the flood! I was too late!”

He started to wail once more.

* * *

“So, I guess this is it.” Emil sighed heavily, rolling over in his bed wrap. “Tomorrow we go our separate ways.”

“Snufkin and I will miss you two.” Seamstress said.

“Say, are you two late hibernators?” Snufkin wondered. 

“We’re usually the last people to go to sleep.” Brother Mymble confirmed. “Are you thinking of stopping by for a...yawn...visit on your trip south next year?”

“Of course I’ll visit!” Snufkin promised. “I’ll be really late though, I don’t think I’ll be leaving Moominvalley until the first snow sets in.”

“If we happen to be asleep when you show up, you can feel free to wake us.” Emil offered. “I don’t think I’ve gotten to sleep through an entire hibernation since my pre-med degree days anyway.”

“Alright, if you insist.” Snufkin agreed. 

The four of them were laying in their bedrolls silently. The hour was late, and they knew that they should be going to be, but they also knew that once the sun rose, they would be parting once again.

“Tell you what.” Snufkin decided. “How about one last song before we nod off for the night?”

“I’d like that.” Emil agreed. 

“Sure.” Brother Mymble yawned. He was more tired than any of them, but he seemed determined to stay awake. “I’m down for whatever song you want.”

“Do you need the guitar?” Seamstress asked. 

“I don’t know how to play it on the guitar anyway.” Snufkin took a deep breath. “This is a song my mother taught me a long, long time ago. All mumriks at least know some version of the song. We’re a traveling culture, so...um yeah.” He cleared his throat. “This is the Together Lullaby.” 

_ A mother duck once lived in a lake  _

_ Her ducklings swam next to her and thrived  _

_ Suddenly the water started to rise  _

_ And they floated far away  _

_ Once the water went down  _

_ The ducklings were found  _

_ And soon they were together again  _

“Ah.” Seamstress sighed happily. Snufkin wondered if she had heard of the lullaby before. Maybe Patch had taught it to her after all.

_ Sometimes life pulls us from those you love _

_ Don’t cry dear, dry your tears _

_ Ease your worries and ease your fears _

_ It’s part of life to see them on their way _

_ In life journeys always occur _

_ What’s lost will always return _

_ And soon we’ll be together again _

Snufkin could hear Brother Mymble’s breathing slow down. It seemed as if sleep had finally claimed him. With a smile, Snufkin began the next verse. 

_ A sparrow cared for her three chicks  _

_ She had a nest high in the trees  _

_ Then the storm sired a frightful breeze  _

_ And in the night they blew away  _

_ Once the wind died down  _

_ She saw her chicks flying around  _

_ And soon they were together again  _

_ Sometimes life pulls us from those you love _

_ Don’t cry dear, dry your tears _

_ Ease your worries and ease your fears _

_ It’s part of life to see them on their way _

_ In life journeys always occur _

_ What’s lost will always return _

_ And soon we’ll be together again _

Emil’s breathing slowed down as well. It appeared as if he too had succumbed to exhaustion. Snufkin could almost skip the last verse. But he was certain that Seamstress was still awake, so he pressed on. 

_ A son lived with his father  _

_ They had many happy days, but the son surmised  _

_ That the father had longing in his eyes  _

_ So the son waved as he walked away  _

_ After much time had passed  _

_ They reunited at last  _

_ And soon they were together again  _

_ Sometimes life pulls us from those you love _

_ Don’t cry dear, dry your tears _

_ Ease your worries and ease your fears _

_ It’s part of life to see them on their way _

_ In life journeys always occur _

_ What’s lost will always return _

_ And soon we’ll be together again. _

“Snufkin, that was wonderful!” Seamstress clapped quietly, as to not wake the other two.

“Have you heard it before?” Snufkin asked. 

“Patch’s mother taught it to me.” Seamstress explained. “Although...she called it the Traveler's Lullaby and not the Together Lullaby, so I got confused.”

“I’m sorry.” Snufkin apologized. “I’ve heard both names used, so I should’ve asked if you’d heard of the Traveler’s Lullaby too.”

“The third stanza is also backwards.” Seamstress said. "I assume that's normal too?"

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well…” Seamstress hesitated, “I always sung it to Patch as “A father lived with his son.’”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to go.” Snufkin frowned. “Did I sing it the other way or something?”

“You did.” Seamstress confirmed. “Every single time I was expecting you to say father you said son, and every single time I was waiting for you to say son you said father.”

“Huh.” Snufkin fiddled with his scarf before deciding to tell her. “That’s not the first time I’ve made that mistake.”

“Oh?”

“It’s almost as if…” Snufkin shook his head. “No, that’s ridiculous.”

“No, go on.” Seamstress encouraged him.

“Well, it’s almost as if my birth mother taught it to me that way.” Snufkin laughed. “Even if that were true, I don’t think I’d remember that. I was found in a box near an orphanage when I was about two years old. Nobody can remember that far...ouch!” Snufkin clenched his arm.

“What’s wrong?” Snufkin could hear the rustling of blankets as Seamstress sat up.

“I think a mosquito bit me...” Snufkin shivered. A slight pinching and itching sensation crawled its way up his arm, almost as if a mosquito was dragging its teeth into his skin. The sensation stopped right at his wrist and faded away.

“I suppose that’s the risk that comes with sleeping outside.” Seamstress lamented.

“Yes I suppose so.” Snufkin slowly ran his paw where the sensation had been, but he couldn’t find the usual raised bump that a mosquito would usually leave. _ How strange, _ he thought to himself. 

“If you want, Myron did set up a tent for us—”

“Not on your life.” Snufkin interrupted her. “I’ve been away from solid land for too long to not enjoy a nice night under the stars.”

“Suit yourself.” Seamstress chuckled. Snufkin heard her shuffling around in the bedroll again. “Have a nice night.”

“You too.” Snufkin echoed. He’d been wearing long sleeves too. How had the mosquito even gotten in?

“By the way,” Seamstress yawned, “sometimes we remember more than we think. Keep that in mind, okay?”

“Alright.” Snufkin yawned too. He was too tired to puzzle over the sensation in his arm. “Good night.”

Snufkin fell asleep to the sound of the cicadas singing.

* * *

Moominmamma was having trouble sleeping again, so she decided to get a glass of water. To her surprise, Patch was sitting at the kitchen table, cradling a mug in his paws.

“I made myself coffee.” Patch winced, as if expecting her to yell at him. “I figured you wouldn't mind. You don’t, right?”

“Of course not.” Moominmamma reassured him.

“There’s some left if you want.” Patch jerked his thumb in the direction of the pot.

“No thanks, I’m alright.” Moominmamma grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it up in the sink. “What’s keeping you up?”

“Oh, phantom pains. Among other things.” Patch shrugged indifferently. “How about you?”

“Funeral preparations.” Moominmamma sighed.

“I guess we’re both going to be having a bad night.” Patch observed dryly.

“I suppose we are.” Moomimamma agreed. 

“Indeed.” Patch took a sip from his coffee mug. Moominmamma could see that he had taken the bandage off of his paw. It must be feeling better. 

“What’s on your mind?” Moominmamma asked.

“I’m...I don’t know how I feel.” Patch admitted. “I mean, I...I thought I’d have my old life back by now. That I would quickly get my memory back and things would get back to the way they were before my accident, before…” He gestured aimlessly to everything around him. “And for a while, it looked like that was going to be the case. Sure, I barely remember what that life was like, but…” He clenched his mug. “I left the Center with the hope that what I had lost would be better than the life I had there. I was desperate, Moominmamma. There were times when I didn’t think I would make it back south. And now to know that I have, and that I was so close, only to have that taken away…” He bowed his head. Moominmamma could see the tears falling from his face.

“Don’t lose heart.” Moominmamma put a consoling paw on his shoulder. “The town may be gone, but your mother may still be out there. The Inspector still has some phone calls to make. If she’s out there, he’ll find her.”

“Maybe.” Patch sniffed. “She doesn’t seem the type to just let some stupid rainstorm take her out. But...I don’t want to hope again. What if...what if I’m really alone?”

“As long as we’re here, you’ll always have a place to go.” Moominmamma promised. “No matter what happens, you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Really?” Patch peered up at Moominmamma with tear-filled eyes. 

“Of course.” Moominmamma felt her chest tighten. Somewhere out there, a mother was missing her son just as much as he was missing her. Moominmamma might not be able to reunite the two, but she knew at least for the moment it was her duty to make sure Patch was safe and cared for. Not that it had never occurred to her to do anything else (she was Moominmamma after all). She wondered in the back of her mind if anyone had done the same for Snufkin while he had been on his travels.

“Thank you.” Patch’s voice shook with emotion. “Thank you.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while. Moominmamma glanced at the clock. “Patch,” she said, “I have something to show you. Do you want to come out to the veranda?”

“I suppose I don’t have anything better to do.” Patch shrugged.

Moominmamma grabbed Patch’s coffee and opened the door. Red, orange, and yellow beams of light flooded the kitchen. 

“Oh, the sunrise!” Patch’s eyes widened in understanding. “I haven’t seen that for ages!” He grabbed his crutches and hurried outside. “Oh the mountain! And the way the river’s sparkling! It’s amazing!”

“It is amazing.” Moominmamma smiled. “It’s the most beautiful view I know.”

“The air smells beautiful.” Patch breathed deeply. “It’s not too hot either. It almost feels like springtime again.”

“I suppose.” Moominmamma agreed amiably. Granted, the air was less sticky than normal, but she wouldn’t quite call it springtime air. 

“It’s like...huh.” Patch took a long swig from his coffee. “Interesting.”

“What is it?” Moominmamma asked. 

“It’s….well…” Patch hesitated. “Have you ever heard of forebodings?”

“I have, yes.” Moominmamma nodded. “Are you having one?”

“Yeah.” Patch confirmed. “I feel the wind in my bones. Something is coming to Moominvalley. Something big. And soon.”

“Good or bad?”

“I think…I think it’s good.” Patch studied the horizon. “However we must be careful. One wrong move, and we risk the fair wind blowing away for good.”

“Then we’ll be careful then.” Moominmamma patted Patch reassuringly on the shoulder. “I could use something good right around now.”

“Me too.” Patch finished off his coffee. “Me too.”

Together, the two of them watched the sun climbing in the sky. It was a beautiful dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Patty Cake, Patty Cake is also a real-life childhood nursery rhyme.   
> -I did create the Together/Traveler's Lullaby. I couldn't decide on one name, so it has two names. Haha...  
> -Phantom pains are essentially pains that come from a limb that is no longer there.
> 
> Also, I'd just like to thank you all for your love and support of Brother Mymble and Emil. Reading all the comments about how much you liked them (and all my other OCs) really made my day. It may just be the fact that I'm tired and ready for bed, but I feel like I'm saying goodbye to two good friends. I haven't had any OCs for that long before...//tears up.
> 
> As always, thank you very much. My tumblr is @the-walking-pie if you're curious. I think it's been a few chapters since I've plugged that, anyway...


	17. About a Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! @99griffon made some fanart for me (which flattered me very much). [This should take you there!](https://99griffon.tumblr.com/post/625014423174643713/a-quickie-mini-comic-for-the-walking-pie-based)
> 
> Hopefully, that works.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! One more to go!

“You guys are all set, right?” Brother Mymble asked for the hundredth time.

“Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine!” Seamstress told him.

“I gave them plenty of supplies.” Myron reassured his brother. “They don’t even have to stop in town if they don’t want to.”

“Thank you. Thank you all.” Snufkin swallowed as he looked upon his friends for what would be the last time in a while. “You guys saved my life. I wish I knew how to repay you…”

“You already have.” Emil smiled. “You take care of yourself, alright? Just because Brother Mymble and I cleared you for travel doesn’t mean that you can go crazy, alright?”

“Alright.” Snufkin agreed. “Nothing crazy. We’re sticking to the plan.”

“See you in the winter, kiddo.” Brother Mymble dabbed at his face. “I’ll be all better by then, and I’m sure I’ll have some great stories to tell you.”

“Hopefully nobody decides to walk on the dam lake right before we go hibernate again.” Emil sighed. “They fell right in, of course. Everyone knows that the dam lake doesn’t freeze all the way through…”

_ “Ha!” _ Snufkin snorted. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Oh ha-ha very funny.” Emil rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Hopefully we’ll have the dam fixed before you come back. It really is a lovely sight.”

“I’d love to see it.” Snufkin squeezed the straps of his pack.

“Well,” Seamstress said heavily, “we should get going now.”

The two of them set off. Brother Mymble, Emil, and Myron waved until they were just tiny specks on the horizon. But the Homecoming Club knew that even though they would soon be separated by distance, they would be eternally bound by friendship. And friendship was a bond that could survive any obstacle.

* * *

“Hello?” Moomin knocked on the Witch’s door, an envelope clutched in his hand. “Is anybody home?”

“Oh, hi Moomin!” Alicia happily opened the door. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How is everyone?”

“We’re as well as can be expected.” Moomin sighed.

“I heard about Snufkin.” Alicia said sadly. “I’m sorry. I miss him too.”

Moomin nodded. He felt guilty that the gang hadn’t hung out with Alicia this year yet. In fairness, they had a lot on their minds and there had been a lot going on. But even so, that wasn’t a very good excuse. “Is your grandmother around?”

“No, she’s in the north collecting ingredients for her potions collection.” Alicia said. “What do you have in that envelope?”

“It’s an invitation to Snufkin’s funeral.” Moomin passed the envelope over. “It’s later this week, and it would be nice if you could attend.”

“I’d be honored to.” Alicia smiled. “If my grandmother’s around, I’m sure she’d like to attend too.”

“About your grandmother…” Moomin swallowed nervously. “I don’t mean to impose, but is there any magic to bring back the dead?”

“No…” Alicia said sympathetically. “It’s one of the three laws of magic. You can’t return anyone from the dead.”

“I see.” Moomin twiddled his thumbs. “I guess I was hoping...I don’t know. Could I at least talk to him?”

Alicia shook her head.

“Oh.” Moomin felt his tail droop. He knew in his heart that would be the answer. If it had been possible, Moominmamma would’ve looked into it already. 

“I feel the same way Moomin.” Alicia put her hand on his shoulder. “If we could bring him back, we would.”

“I know.” Moomin weakly attempted a smile.

“Say, I was making a bubble potion. Do you want to watch?” Alicia offered.

“A bubble potion?” Moomin asked.

“It works the same as using soap, but the bubbles are different colors, and sometimes they turn into animal shapes and make noises.” Alicia explained. “It’s a basic potion, but it takes a really long time to make. I could use someone to talk to.”

“Alright.” Moomin agreed, stepping inside the house. Maybe a good distraction was what he needed.

* * *

“Snufkin! I know you’re excited, but slow down!” Seamstress called. 

“Sorry!” Snufkin stopped on the top of the hill and waited for her to catch up. “We’re just so close to Deer Valley!”

“I...know…” Seamstress gasped. “Phew.” She stopped to catch her breath. “You know, watching you, nobody would be able to tell you had pneumonia a few months ago.”

“Emil and Brother Mymble did say that the lung sounds or whatever they’re called are pretty much gone.” Snufkin reminded her.

“Yes, I know.” Seamstress smiled.

Snufkin glanced behind him. “Oh! You can see the town from here!”

“Really?” Seamstress climbed the rest of the way. “Wow. It’s huge!”

“Thankfully we don’t have to stop there.” Snufkin said.

“Well, I’d like to at least rest a little bit.” Seamstress requested. 

“There’s a bakery in town that I know.” Snufkin told her. “They usually have good sales on their older food. I’ve stopped there a few years when my food supply’s been lower than I would’ve liked.”

“Come to think of it,” Seamstress mused, “We haven’t had bread for a long time. I suppose I could’ve made some, but I was rationing the flour…”

“Then let’s stop there.” Snufkin decided. Now that Seamstress mentioned it, he wouldn’t mind a loaf of bread himself.

“Alright.” Seamstress agreed. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

* * *

“Stinky did what?” Moominmamma ran her paw over her face.

“All the chairs are gone!” Moomin exclaimed. “And we worked all afternoon to set those up…”

“Never mind.” Moominmamma sighed. “We’ll simply have people bring their own chairs.”

“Stinky’s getting out of control.” Moominpappa huffed. “We must do something.”

“Maybe Mymble has an idea. I think for now, she’s…” Moominmamma fumbled around for her list. “I know it’s somewhere…”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Patch set down the sympathy cards that he had been sorting. “We tell the Inspector and get him to do something about it.”

“I’m not sure about that…” Moominmamma hesitated. “I mean, it’s a harmless prank…”

“Why not?” Patch pressed. “He’s causing you all a lot of stress. Nobody, and I mean  _ nobody _ worth anything would knowingly interfere with a funeral. If this Stinky didn’t know, he will stop bugging you. If he did know, that he can go to jail for a day or so and think about what he’s done.”

“I suppose so.” Moominmamma sighed. “It’s just that it’s so unusual for Stinky to act out this badly. Something must be wrong.”

“If you don’t go talk to the Inspector, I will.” Patch declared. “I may not have gotten the chance to meet Snufkin, but from what I’ve heard about him, he wouldn’t have let this go on for this long.”

Moomin thought it was rather brash of Patch to bring up Snufkin’s name in this situation, but he let it slide. He too was sick of Stinky trying to ruin everything.

“I’ll talk to him.” Moominmamma promised. “Hopefully the Inspector can help Stinky. I don’t think jail is the best option.”

“Fair enough.” Patch shrugged and returned to the pile of cards. “Maybe you’re right and all he needs is someone to talk to.”

“I think I might as well go now.” Moominmamma decided. “I was going to talk to Mymble anyway, might as well do both at once. Maybe she has an extra copy of that list…” she turned to Moomin. “Dear, could you pull out that tater tot hot dish from the freezer? If it thaws out before I get home, could you put it in the oven for me?”

“Of course, Moominmamma.” Moomin pulled the casserole out as Moominmamma left. Moominpappa finished making his cup of coffee, waved, and walked upstairs. Moomin sighed. He was seeing even less of his parents lately.

“Y’know,” Patch pushed the sympathy cards aside, “I’m pretty much done with these. You up for a game or something?” 

“No.” Moomin sighed.

“I have a deck of playing cards.” Patch offered, giving them a shuffle. “It turns out Snork had quite a few spare decks.” He chuckled. “He’s the most disorganized person I’ve ever met. But I suppose all inventors are like that.”

“I’m alright.” Moomin said.

“Do you uh...wanna watch me play solitaire?” Patch asked hopefully.

Moomin realized that Patch was trying to get his mind off of the funeral, at least for a short while. “Okay.” He reluctantly conceded.

“Perfect!” Patch drew from his deck. “Hm...this doesn’t look like a good start.” He scowled at the cards on the table. “Hopefully the rest of the round improves…”

* * *

Snufkin chewed on the last slice of bread. It was a bit stale now, but still delicious.

“Pity that’s the last of it.” Seamstress lamented. “Considering how frugal you’ve told me you are, I’m surprised that you frequent a place with sliced bread.”

“Once a year is hardly called frequenting.” Snufkin argued. “And besides, sliced bread is the norm now.” He chose not to tell her that most years he took the burnt loaves from the trash, only stopping in to buy the day-old loaves if absolutely necessary. “You should leave your hometown a bit more often.”

“Ah yes. Maybe I should.” Seamstress said thoughtfully. “I don’t want to go this far though. I’m...having a bit of trouble as it is.”

“Do you want to rest?” Snufkin offered. He felt guilty. He kept forgetting that Seamstress wasn’t necessarily as young or as spry as he was. (Although, even he was feeling a bit sore from all the traveling).

“That would be nice.” Seamstress sat down on a nearby stump. “We’re getting awfully close to the turnoff for Hidden Valley.”

“You don’t have to come with me.” Snufkin told her. “I know you want to go back to Hidden Valley and wait for your son. I could finish the journey on my own.”

“No.” Seamstress shook her head. “Like I said before, my son would be angry if I didn’t help you.”

“Fair enough.” Snufkin nodded. “I just...ow!” he clutched his left side.

“What’s wrong?” Seamstress stood up, panicked. 

“Nothing.” Snufkin hissed. “Just a side stitch. It’s been happening on and off all day...ouch!”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Seamstress suggested, patting the stump next to her. 

“Stupid ribs.” Snufkin muttered to himself.

“Why didn’t you let me know earlier?” Seamstress sighed. “Brother Mymble and Emil told you to be careful.”

“Because it wasn’t really hurting that bad!” Snufkin pushed his knuckles into his ribs, trying to massage the knot out. “It felt more like a small bruise that was several days old, not like this!”

“Alright, fair enough.” Seamstress conceded. “Is it okay if I take a look at it?”

“It’s fine!” Snufkin insisted. “I just pushed myself too hard and…” he trailed off. The pain suddenly dulled down to that of a recent bruise. “Hold on, it’s better now.”

“It’s not your appendix, is it?” Seamstress paled.

“Wrong side and too high up.” Snufkin shook his head. “I guess sitting down made it better.”

“Snufkin…” Seamstress hesitated, “are you having…?”

“What ho!” A hemulen shouted.

“Hello!” Seamstress greeted her. “How are you?”

The pain was back to what it had been all morning, but it was throbbing as if it wanted to tell him something. Snufkin noticed that the hemulen was dressed in police inspector garb. Frantically, he tried to remember if he had committed any crimes in this area. He was close enough to Moominvalley that he wouldn’t have tried anything too crazy, lest the authorities arrest him on the way back or on his way out. Still… “We should get out of here.” Snufkin hissed. He had no idea why, but a sense of dread was slowly enveloping him. 

“It’s alright.” Seamstress hissed back. “I’ll bribe her if I must.”

Snufkin didn’t find that particularly reassuring. 

“What seems to be the matter?” the police inspector asked.

“A cramp.” Snufkin explained. “I haven’t been able to travel much this season, and I guess I over-exerted myself.”

“Mmm.” the police inspector frowned sympathetically. “Did you folks get caught up in the floods?”

Seamstress and Snufkin nodded.

“That rain storm displaced a lot of folks.” the police inspector sighed. “I’m actually on the way back from my shift warning travelers to stay away from Hidden Valley.”

“I’m from Hidden Valley.” Seamstress’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

“Well…” the police inspector paused, as if trying to choose her words carefully to soften the blow. “Are you aware that the flood took some of the houses?”

“Yes, I am aware.” Seamstress nodded. “My house was one of them.”

“It also took the entire rest of the town.” the police officer informed her apologetically. “Following that, there was a gigantic landslide that destroyed the path down there. Fortunately, almost all of the town migrated over to Eagle’s Peak and they’re safe there, but...there is no more Hidden Valley.”

“No more...Hidden Valley?” Seamstress shook her head. “No, that’s not possible!”

Snufkin put a reassuring hand on Seamstress’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” the police inspector sat down on the ground in front of them. “I don’t know much about the situation down there otherwise, but I can tell you what I know.”

“Who’s missing?” Seamstress asked. 

“Not very many people. I have the list here, actually.” The police inspector pulled out a notebook. “Van Fillyjonk, Father Moomin, and Seamstress.”

Snufkin felt a pinch on his paw. He slapped it in annoyance.  _ Stupid bugs.  _ He focused on what the police inspector was telling them. 

“Van Fillyjonk was my neighbor. She was with me for a while.” Seamstress told her. “That is, until we got sick of each other and she jumped on the houseboat of a traveling fashion show.”

“Really?” the police inspector raised her eyebrow. 

“What, you think I offed her or something?” Seamstress laughed. “She was annoying and I did think about it, but no. Apparently, traveling fashion shows are a real thing down there. I was surprised that she joined it, but I guess losing one’s house does make one change their perspective.” Seamstress sighed. “She’ll get disillusioned with it soon enough and be back though, I’m sure of it. Father Moomin went up north somewhere to continue his work, he was always a private fellow. And Seamstress is, well, me!”

“You’re seamstress?” the police inspector’s eyes went wide.

“Yes.” Seamstress confirmed. “What is it?”

“We had a call about you a few days ago.” the police inspector said excitedly. “Apparently you filed a missing persons report a few years back?”

Seamstress’s paws flew to her mouth.

“I’m assuming from your reaction that’s true.” the police inspector deduced. “Patch, I think that was his name, apparently was searching for information about himself, found your missing poster, and decided to call in.”

“He’s alive.” Seamstress started to shake. “He’s alive!”

Snufkin smiled. Seamstress’s wish was coming true!

“Where is he?” Seamstress regained her composure. “I’d like to see him, if that’s something he wants.”

“The call came from Moominvalley.” the police inspector said. “You won’t be able to get a hold of them now, the phone lines were taken out in a mudslide and they’ll take awhile to go back up.”

“So...you’re not sure if he’s still there or not?” Seamstress’s face fell.

“No.” the police inspector shook her head.

“We tried to make a phone call back in Deer Valley…” Seamstress sighed. “That must’ve been why it couldn’t go through.” 

Snufkin went back to squeezing Seamstress’s shoulder. It was a lot to take in. “Is Moominvalley alright?” He asked timidly.

“Moominvalley itself is just as fine as it ever was.” the police inspector informed him happily.

Snufkin exhaled in relief. 

“Well there’s only one thing to do then.” Seamstress decided brusquely. “We continue on and hope that we catch Patch before he decides to leave.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Snufkin sprang up from the stump.

“Snufkin!” Seamstress chided. “Your side!”

“Oh yeah.” Snufkin prodded it. “It feels better, I guess?” Surprisingly, the pain in his side had indeed disappeared. 

“....Right. You should be more careful.” The police inspector warned him. “It won’t do you any good to injure yourself before you reach your destination.

Snufkin nodded.

“Thank you for that information, inspector.” Seamstress stood up and brushed off her dress. “We shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

“And thank you for the information about the missing people.” the police inspector pocketed her notebook. “I hope you find your son!”

“Thank you!” Seamstress waved as the police inspector walked away.

“Well, we best get going.” Snufkin adjusted the straps on the pack Myron had given him. “Now we both have people to meet in Moominvalley!”

“That is, if Patch hasn’t left it already…” Seamstress sighed.

“There’s always a chance that he’s heading this way!” Snufkin reassured her. “This path is the only way to Hidden Valley, and he might want to look at it himself!”

“That’s true.” Seamstress said thoughtfully. “If I were in his shoes, I’d want to look at it myself too. But what if he’s not?” 

“Then we’ll figure something else out.” Snufkin said. “That’s what we’ve been doing these past few months, after all. If one plan doesn’t work, there’s always another one.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Seamstress agreed. “It’s what we’ve been doing all along.”

They set off towards Moominvalley.

* * *

“Stinky?” the Inspector called. “Where are you?”

“Boo!” Stinky jumped out from the bushes.

“Ah!” the Inspector jumped back as Stinky cackled. “Don’t do that!”

“What do you want?” Stinky crossed his arms. “Are you going to arrest me, officer?”

“I just want to have a talk with you, that’s all.” the Inspector promised.

Stinky raised an eyebrow, but made no objections.

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve been making a bit of trouble recently.” the Inspector said. “Now, nobody’s filed any charges against you, but it’s been causing a lot of grief. I’d like you to stop.”

“Why?” Stinky asked.

“Well...I just told you why!” the Inspector said, flustered. “It’s causing a lot of grief. Especially in the light of what’s happened…” he paused. “I beg your pardon, but have you heard the news about Snufkin?”

“Little My told me that he died.” Stinky said. “Apparently, they found all his stuff and he was nowhere near it.”

“It was a flood.” the Inspector clarified. 

“Oh?” Stinky’s eyes widened. “I thought Snufkin could swim.”

“It was the largest flood in a hundred years. Not even the greatest swimmer in the world could survive that.” the Inspector sighed.

“Huh.” Stinky started to pick his nails. “That’s...that’s unfortunate.”

“So,” the Inspector pulled an invitation out of his pocket, “if you promise to behave and not cause a ruckus, Moominmamma has invited you to his funeral.” The Inspector personally disagreed with the decision, but he could hardly tell Moominmamma no.

“What’s a funeral?” Stinky took the invitation and examined it curiously.

_ “What’s a funeral?”  _ the Inspector’s jaw dropped. Stinky had to be joking, but he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He quickly tried to recompose himself. “It’s a ceremony to say good-bye to someone who’s died.”

“Is it like a party?” Stinky slid one of his nails under the envelope’s flap and peeled it open. 

“Not exactly. It’s a small get-together where everyone remembers the deceased, talks about their life, and says their farewells.” the Inspector explained.

“Why?” Stinky fiddled with the edge of the invitation, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

“Why?” the Inspector blinked. “Well...it helps. Sometimes it can be hard to accept someone’s death.”

“Why would I need to go?” Stinky scoffed. “I know he’s dead, and nothing I say or do will change that.” The edges of the invitation folded around his grip.

“Sometimes what we know differs from what our hearts are ready to accept.” the Inspector watched Stinky carefully. His entire body was trembling. “Of course, you don’t have to go.” the Inspector gently continued. “But Moominmamma thought that….”

“Bah!” Stinky crumpled up the paper, threw it to the ground, and scampered off. 

“Stinky, wait!” the Inspector called, but he was already long gone. 

* * *

“Phew!” Seamstress wiped the sweat off of her brow. “Please tell me the way down is much shorter.”

“It is,” Snufkin confirmed, “but we can’t go any further tonight. This part of the mountain is treacherous, and we don’t have enough moonlight to switch to the safer path.”

“You know the mountain better than I do.” Seamstress sighed. “I suppose the climb can wait until tomorrow morning.”

“As soon as daybreak hits.” Snufkin promised. It was agony to wait, but he knew the consequences of rushing things. He set down his pack and pulled out his bedroll, as there wasn’t enough room on the cliff to set up a tent (not that they had bothered most nights; it was usually too much of a bother after a long day of hiking).

“So is that Moominvalley?” Seamstress asked.

“Yes.” Snufkin smiled as he gazed upon the forest. Come daybreak, he would be able to make out Moomin’s roof. He sat down, took off his shoes, and started to rub his legs. The grueling traveling schedule that they had been doing for the past week or so had taken its toll. He felt an inexplicable twitch in his eyebrow.  _ What in the.. _ .he rubbed it with his paw.

“Something wrong?” Seamstress asked.

“Stupid eyebrow won’t stop twitching!” Snufkin groaned. “It’s probably allergies.”

“Do you normally have allergies?”

“Well, no…” Snufkin trailed off.

“Snufkin…” Seamstress hesitated. “Could it be a foreboding?”

“I’m too young for those.” Snufkin scoffed. He pulled the covers of his bedroll over himself.

“Patch was around your age too when he had his first forebodings.” Seamstress informed him. “There’s a chance that you might be old enough now.”

“...Puberty?” Snufkin’s eyes widened. He’d heard about it from various mumriks, but it had never really occurred to him that his time was coming soon.

“Quite possibly.” Seamstress nodded.

Snufkin smashed his face into his pillow. The eyebrow twitching was fading a little bit now, but it was still persistent enough to be irritating. 

“Are you alright?” Seamstress asked, concerned.

“I am very irritated and I want to peel my face off.” Snufkin muttered. 

“When Patch’s forebodings got bad, he’d always try to puzzle them out with me.” Seamstress said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we can try something similar?”

“Can’t imagine what else this means other than my face will hit a tree.” Snufkin grumbled. 

“Sometimes Patch’s earlier forebodings were...off.” Seamstress explained. “He’d think something was west when he meant east, or bad when it was good, or…”

“I’ve had that explained to me before.” Snufkin snapped.

“I was just trying to help, okay?” Seamstress snapped.

“I’m sorry.” Snufkin apologized. He raised his head from the pillow. The eyebrow twitching had faded to a memory. “I’m just...I don’t know really.”

“Puberty is hard.” Seamstress sympathized. 

“I’m just frustrated that I’m going to have to deal with…” Snufkin gestured over his entire body. “How did Patch deal with it?”

“Well, truth be told, most of his puberty took place over the winter and he never talked to me about it, so I don’t know how he handled it. I tried to prepare him with the information I had, but...things were different for him then they were for me.” Seamstress admitted. “Before I knew it, he came back one spring two times taller, sporting a voice two times deeper, growing twice the hair, and with the ability to see into the future. Well, depending on the cycle of the moon.”

“Full moon at night, forebodings delight. When the moon wanes, so do the pains.” Snufkin echoed the saying long passed down in the mumrik culture.

“Yes, that.” Seamstress winced sympathetically. “If you want, I could tell you what I know…” 

“No, that’s fine.” Snufkin said hastily. “Moominpappa can help me. Or Patch, if he is there.”

“Right!” Seamstress slapped her forehead. “They’d be much better teachers than me!”

Snufkin massaged his eyebrow again. “I’m not even sure what I would’ve been getting a foreboding about. Maybe I’m just tired?” He looked at Seamstress hopefully. His eyebrow had twitched at exhaustion before. 

“What about that stitch you had in your side?” Seamstress reminded him. “It went away after the police inspector gave us the news about Hidden Valley, but you said it’d been hurting all day.”

“Pains from walking.” Snufkin insisted.

“We were rather close to the full moon then.” Seamstress pointed out. “That could’ve been why it hurt so bad.”

“...Hopefully, this is all over nothing.” Snufkin rubbed his forehead again. “Or perhaps this is about something concerning me that’s happening nowhere near me and it doesn’t matter.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense, but all he knew was that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Perhaps.” Seamstress yawned. “If you think it’s safe, we should probably get to bed. Goodnight Snufkin.”

“Goodnight Seamstress.” Snufkin returned his face to the pillow. Hopefully, the foreboding would go away soon.

* * *

The night before Snufkin’s funeral, in the rock pile that he called home, Stinky was plotting. Originally, he had absolutely no intention of going to the funeral, but now...he stabbed angrily at some leftover fish. He had absolutely zero love for the vagabond, but Stinky had to admit that their destinies were woven closer together than he would’ve liked. Stinky was chaotic. Snufkin’s chaos was ordered and purposeful, and very dangerous when used against you. Snufkin was the only person who bothered to stop him, nobody else had enough chaos to stand up to him. Heck, nobody even wanted to press charges against him anymore (well, they never had, but that was the only way that he could potentially gain the Inspector as a rival in Snufkin’s place).

What a terrible fate it was, to have one’s entire self-worth riding on one person. 

“Stupid valley!” Stinky growled as he tore apart his dinner. “Stupid people with their stupid moral high ground with their stupid sense of pity and their stupid sense of...ouch!” He spat out a fish bone. “Ah, to heck with it all!” He yanked the bones out of the fish and cast them far from the tent. He stuffed the rest of the meat into his mouth, swallowed it in one gulp, and rolled onto his rock. 

_ Maybe the Inspector was right, _ a tiny voice in his head whispered.  _ Maybe going to the funeral would help you. _

“Shut up!” Stinky shouted at the voice.

_ What do you have to lose? _

“Hm…” Stinky mused. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll go. I was invited. Maybe some chaos there would help.”

_ Chaos could make everything worse. _

“Aw, what would you know!” Stinky rolled over on his side.  _ Chaos _ ...now  _ that  _ was what he needed. Perhaps if he made just a little bit more, everything would go back to normal. After all, what did he have to lose?

* * *

Soon, the day of the funeral had arrived. It seemed as if the entirety of Moominvalley had shown up, each bringing their own chairs to replace the ones Stinky had stolen. The tables were adorned with white table cloths and lilies. The wooden coffin sat by the bridge, next to an old box and a music stand that served as a makeshift podium. Snufkin’s hat rested on top of the coffin. Moomin knew that some of his friends had placed some trinkets inside of the coffin, as Patch had suggested. Sniff had placed a red marble, Snorkmaiden had placed a few shells from the seashore, and Little My had thrown in some dirt (“Hey, he loves the outdoors, after all!).Patch had given up on finding a different idea and decided to stick in the crystal that he had in his pocket. Moomin had written a letter. He knew Snufkin would never get it, but it had felt good to write. He hadn’t told anyone else what was in it, of course. That would be a secret between him and Snufkin (if all Moomin had heard about the afterlife was true).

The wind gusted again. Patch, Mrs. Fillyjonk, and Moominpappa gripped their hats to stop them from blowing away. Moomin wondered if Snufkin would’ve worn his hat on a day like this, or slipped it into his pack so that he wouldn’t lose it. Then he would’ve complained because his hair would’ve been blowing into his face, floating as freely as dandelions on the wind…

Moomin felt his cheeks heat up, although he wasn’t sure why.

At the appointed hour, Moominpappa walked up to his podium with his notes. Giving them a quick shuffle, he cleared his throat and began. 

“People of Moominvalley,” Moominpappa’s voice boomed, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of our dear Snufkin. While he was a wanderer by nature, he never wandered far from our thoughts, or our hearts. He came to this valley shortly before the fall of the comet about four or so years ago….”

Moomin tuned out the eulogy. He had heard his pappa practice it so many times, Moomin could recite it word-for-word. He fiddled with the potted lilies in front of him. Another breeze danced its way across the valley, causing the leaves to wave in the wind. Moomin sighed. Snufkin would’ve loved this weather. It was an unseasonably cool and blustery day, just perfect for fishing off of the dock. Moomin wondered if they could still try catching the legendary Mameluke from the shore. Or perhaps Snufkin had heard of another fish on his travels, just as huge and just as legendary. It occurred to him that Moominmamma still hadn’t made the first bark boat of the season. He felt his eyes well with tears. It hadn’t dawned on him that Snufkin had been gone for that long. In his mind, it still felt like spring, as if Snufkin would soon be stepping over the bridge, playing his spring song on his harmonica. But he knew that was impossible, that it was now summer, and the harmonica lay safely on his bedside table. 

Snorkmaiden put a reassuring paw on his shoulder.

“Throughout his life, he has been an example to us all.” Moominpappa intoned. “He often acted more mature than his age would suggest, and was always willing to listen to the problems of others. His solutions were always simple yet elegant, just like the life—”

“That’s because he was the last two brain cells this valley had!” A nasally voice called out.

“Stinky!” Moomin pushed his chair back and leapt to his feet. 

“Moomin!” Sniff grabbed his arm. 

“Calm down!” Snorkmaiden grabbed his other arm and guided him back into his chair. “Technically,” she whispered, “Stinky did say something nice about Snufkin! It’s not worth starting a brawl just yet!”

Moomin did his best to calm down. Snorkmaiden was correct, even if Stinky had backhandedly insulted everyone else present. That still didn’t excuse him for what he had done to the flower beds, the chairs, and Moominmamma’s pies.

“Um...what-I mean, it’s a surprise to see you here!” Moominpappa was absolutely bewildered. 

“Thank you.” Stinky replied dryly. “Moominmamma invited me.”

“You invited him?” Moomin heard Patch whisper to Moominmamma. “I thought you said you were going to talk to the Inspector!” 

“I did.” Moominmamma whispered back. “I asked him to talk to Stinky and invite him to the funeral. I thought it would help him.”

“Well…” Patch sighed. “I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, but you might be  _ too  _ nice, Moominmamma.”

“That’s not a bad thing to be at all.” Moominmamma said defensively. 

“Do you want to take a seat?” Moominpappa offered. “I’m still not done with my eulogy, and I’d like to continue.” 

“I suppose I could.” Stinky sat down on the grass in front of the podium. “Please continue.” He said as if he was ordering food at a restaurant. 

“Ah-hem.” Moominpappa cleared his throat. “As I was saying...his life...rather, his solutions were always simple, just as his life was eleg-er, simple and elegant…”

“Are you getting rid of the hat?” Stinky interrupted. “Can I use it?”

“It’s still Snufkin’s,” Moominpappa explained with more patience than Moomin would’ve had in his situation. “Therefore, we’re letting it stay with him.”

“Is his body in there?”

“Oh for crying out loud.” Patch hissed, rising from his seat. “He’s being rude, I’ve been having forebodings all morning, let’s uninvite him!”

“Patch, please.” Moominmamma put a paw on his shoulder.

“Alright.” Patch sat back down and crossed his arms, perhaps because he could see that he was only stressing Moominmamma out more. 

“No.” Moominpappa answered. “That doesn’t mean you can have it though. When Snufkin died, his things passed to us. And we decided to bury the hat.”

_ You didn’t even like him. _ Moomin thought bitterly.  _ Why do you even want it? _

“It’s not going to do him any good.” Stinky huffed. “Although none of his stuff did him any good in the end. I guess his whole ‘things aren’t important’ spiel was true. Unless it’s a raft.”

It took awhile for the implication to sink in, but once it did, Moomin felt livid. He leapt up from his chair tail lashing. “It was an accident of nature!” he yelled. “And how was he supposed to carry a raft around in his pack? It’s impossible to prepare for something as unexpected as that! Snufkin did his best! Nothing in this world could’ve prepared him!”

“There had to have been something else he could’ve done if he was as serious as he said he was about coming back!” Stinky snapped back.

“I don’t think there was anything to be done.” Moominmamma said sadly. “Moominpappa and I were there, and it _ looked—” _ Moominmamma’s voice cracked. Moomin saw that her eyes were glistening with tears. “Even if he had a raft on him, it wouldn’t have helped.”

“Well, if you all are so certain…” Stinky’s gaze fell upon the hat.

_ “Don’t you dare.” _ Patch growled, standing up.

Even years later, the people of Moominvalley would call what happened next the largest scandal the valley had ever seen. Stinky himself couldn’t explain why he did what he did. Perhaps it was greed, perhaps it was denial, perhaps he just wanted some good-old fashioned chaos to spice up the funeral that was much more solem than he had anticipated. 

Stinky ran to the coffin, snatched up Snufkin’s hat, thrust it on his head, and raced off.

Patch was the first to react. “How dare you impugn on Moominmamma’s charity!” he bellowed, throwing one of the potted lilies at Stinky. It missed him by a hair.

“Stinky!” Moominpappa snapped out of his stunned stupor. “Get back here!”

The Inspector was close on his heels, along with the rest of Moominvalley.

Moomin wanted to chase Stinky too, but Sniff held him back. “Stinky’s going to have to jump the river! If he misses, we have to be here to catch the hat!”

“Good idea! Thankfully, we have the perfect hat-catching tools!” Patch went over to the riverbank. “Snorkmaiden, Sniff, Moomin, get your tails ready! Moominmamma, if you could make sure none of us fall in…”

“Of course I will.” She promised.

“Perfect.” Patch nodded, grasping his cane in anticipation. 

“And we’ll grab Stinky too, of course.” Moominmamma added.

“......Of course.” Patch answered. 

As Sniff had predicted, Stinky was cornered at the riverbank. He tried to leap over it, but the Inspector held out his baton to stop him at the same time Snork’s tail went for the hat. The instant it slipped out of Stinky’s hands, a strong gust of wind picked it up and carried it high up into the clouds and over the forest.

“The hat!” Moominpappa cried.

Moomin stared as it floated out of view. He felt his heart drop into his stomach. One careless accident and it was gone, gone forever. Just like Snufkin. He could feel the tears start to pour down his face. 

* * *

“Are we there yet?” Seamstress asked.

“No.” Snufkin chuckled. “Weren’t you just chiding me the other day for being so impatient?”

“Are you talking back to an elderly person?” Seamstress quipped.

“I thought women never aged or something?” Snufkin joked back. He rubbed his eyebrow again. Today would be perfect if his forebodings would just quit acting up!

“Haha, very funny.” Snufkin didn’t even have to look to know that Seamstress was rolling her eyes. “How long until we can actually get a good look at Moominvalley?”

Snufkin glanced up at the sky, looking for a good marker. “I’m not sure, but I’d say about…” He trailed off as he saw a green speck floating in the distance. It was most likely trash, but something told Snufkin to stop and wait for it. 

“What’s wrong?” Seamstress stopped next to him. “Did you forget the way?”

“Just want to grab some trash.” Snufkin pointed at the sky. “A mumrik always takes the time to make the environment better.”

“Indeed.” Seamstress stood next to him and glanced at the sky. “Hang on...that doesn’t look like trash to me. It almost looks like...a hat?”

As the green speck came closer, Snufkin could just barely make out a red feather.  _ Could it be?  _ He reached out his paws and caught it. He felt his eyes well with tears.

“Snufkin?” Seamstress asked.

“It’s...it’s my h-hat….” Snufkin stammered. 

“Your hat?” Seamstress echoed. “What’s it doing all the way here?”

“One reason.” Snufkin’s eyes brimmed with tears, his paws trembled, and his knees began to shake. “It was trash.”

“I think your hat is lovely.” Seamstress complimented it, not quite understanding what Snufkin was saying.

“The Moomins trashed it.  _ The Moomins trashed me!” _ Snufkin turned around and ran into the forest, not even bothering to check where he was going. 

“Snufkin!” Seamstress called.

Snufkin ignored her as the tree branches slapped into his face. Only one thought echoed in his head.

_ It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (....I'm sorry, I've had this in the outline in some form or another since the beginning I promise don't hurt me. ;-;)  
> -I partially based the last line of the first part on what the Lord of the Rings the Return of the King says as the Fellowship breaks up.  
> -Thanks to PipeDreamPrayer for letting me steal Homecoming Club. :)  
> -If one were to set the time in which the Moomin books were to take place in 1945 (when the Moomins and the Great Flood, the first Moomin book, was published), Sliced bread was only 17 years old. Did it catch on this fast in real life?  
> //shrugs I don't know I just wanted the funny joke haha Seamstress is older than sliced bread.


End file.
